


Like My Father But Bolder

by HeartOfStars



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Character Death, Gen, Hamilton References, In a way, Luke isn't exactly like Hamilton though, Star Wars & Hamilton, There isn't a Burr character, Violence, because it just WORKS okay, because our favorite sunshine child has no enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfStars/pseuds/HeartOfStars
Summary: Luke Skywalker, having recently arrived in the American colonies, is determined to change the world. His journey takes him to King's College and then into the Continental Army, where he makes many friends and becomes a great speaker...and even leads him into the service of a general who seems very familiar.AKA the Star Wars Hamilton AU, gifted to the amazing SpellCleaver for her birthday!
Relationships: Lando Calrissian & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpellCleaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/gifts).



> Okay so I've been planning this for a while but it's just perfect for a writer who loves history and Star Wars. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPELL YOU ARE AMAZING

America. A single word. A word meaning opportunity, a better life, equality for all men, the chance to rise high and reach one’s true potential...and he was finally here. Luke Skywalker was here, at the dawn of the Revolutionary War; and for the first time in his young life, he was finally going to make the change he had dreamed of every day for ten years. 

He almost couldn’t believe it. 

Nineteen years in the Caribbean, living in the West Indies; he’d wanted to say things from a young age, and had been told he’d never amount to much. No one from the Leeward Islands ever did anything. And no matter how many times he told his friends that his father had left the islands, they didn’t believe him. 

_ All right,  _ they’d say.  _ Then where is your father? _

Of course, Luke hadn’t had an answer, because he had never  _ met  _ his father. He knew he should believe his father was dead...he should’ve outgrown his childlike dreams a long time ago. But a dreamer like him couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

And even when his aunt and uncle, and his friends, had called him ridiculous and had told him to think realistically...he’d had one person who believed in him. 

_ You’re gonna reach the stars, kid,  _ his best friend Biggs had told him.  _ No one else around here is going anywhere, but you...you’re gonna be the best of us.  _

_ I’d love to,  _ Luke said.  _ But you really think I will?  _

_ Of course, Luke, don’t ever doubt yourself. But when you leave and make yourself dirty rich, never forget where you came from.  _

Biggs had told him that when he was sixteen, Luke fifteen. They’d had everything in front of them. 

A day later Biggs had been shot in a tavern brawl. 

But in the end...Luke’s friend had been right. The ship had just docked in the harbor a day ago; twenty-four hours since he’d been standing on American soil. Whether he’d actually become famous was uncertain...but he’d made it off that crummy island, and now…

Now he had a world of opportunities before him. 

And he knew exactly where he was going to start: King’s College. 

Anyone else would’ve said he was insane: an immigrant on his way to one of the most prestigious colleges in the Colonies. But Luke was intelligent; and once he got his education, he’d be able to do anything. As long as he studied and worked hard, he knew he could do it.

_ Boy, wait until all my friends back home hear about it,  _ he thought to himself.  _ Luke Skywalker, top in the class...famous for about a hundred works, concerning philosophy...works studied by thousands of young students… _

He was so busy daydreaming he didn’t notice the person two feet away until he’d bumped right into them. 

“Watch it!” said the man. 

“Sorry!” Luke said quickly, flushing red. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been watching--”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, kid,” said the man, more of a scruffy-looking sort. “You look like you’re off someplace important.” 

“Uh...King’s College,” Luke said, and tried to stand a little taller. 

To his utter embarrassment--and annoyance--the man burst out laughing. 

_ “King’s College,”  _ he echoed. “Not trying to offend you, but that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Well, first of all, it is a  _ little  _ offensive,” Luke said hotly, crossing his arms over his chest. “And second of all, what, exactly, makes it so  _ funny?” _

“Well...I mean, not to be rude, but…” The man gestured at his clothes. “You’re going to  _ King’s College.  _ The best of the best go there, men who become famous, men who are knowledgeable,  _ great men of the state.”  _

“And how would you know?” Luke hadn’t been here long, but he could tell just by looking at this man that he was not the type to have been educated. “Have  _ you  _ been there?”

“Well, no, but…” The man spread his arms in a shrug. “I’ve been around.” 

Luke arched an eyebrow. “Around...brothels, you mean.” 

The man stared at him for a long minute, and Luke was afraid he’d said too much; but then the man burst out laughing. 

“You’ve got more wit than I was expecting, kid,” he said, and Luke wished he would stop  _ calling him that.  _ “I apologize; I might’ve judged you too harshly. What’s your name?”

Luke debated not telling him, but then he decided that the man  _ had  _ apologized.

“Luke Skywalker,” he said, offering his hand.

The man shook his hand; he had an incredibly firm grip, and Luke wondered what he’d been doing all his life. Certainly not studying--his initial assessment had been correct. 

“Han Solo,” the man said. 

Luke smiled. “Nice to meet you, Han. Now, would you like to come with me and see about getting yourself an education?”

“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Han said. “I’ll find you a place to live, which…” He looked Luke up and down. “I can tell by looking at you it would’ve taken you about two months.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, but he was starting to realize that this was just the way Han Solo talked...and against his better judgment, he was starting to like it. 

“So I’ll come with you,” Han said again. “But you are  _ not  _ turning me into a scholar.”

Luke smirked. “Challenge accepted.” 

  
  


Luke had been nervous at first; he was attending the college with dozens of young men from famous families, and the work was incredibly difficult. One of the professors even spoke only in French, which was difficult. But then, a few good things began to happen. 

First, when he was having trouble understanding the French professor, one of his fellow students offered to help. 

“I’m a Frenchman myself,” he said, after introducing himself as Lando Calrissian. “And I’ll help you...if you help me.” 

“What can I help you with?” asked Luke, curious.

Calrissian leaned in close, as if he was embarrassed to be heard. “I don’t understand a thing about finances, and we’re supposed to write a paper on Britain’s banking system.”

Luke was surprised. “And you want  _ my  _ help?”

“Of course,” said Calrissian. “They tell me you’re the expert.” 

That was the first big shock: until that moment, Luke had not realized that he was actually  _ succeeding.  _ After that point, he studied more, studied harder; graduating with a degree became his one aim, because if his intelligence was helping those around him...then he truly was making a difference. Before he knew it, he was considered the best student in the class; Lando wasn’t the only one who would come to him with questions, and soon Luke began to imagine that his dreams of fighting had been correct, and that he was bound to be a wonderful speaker--a statesman. 

But, several months into the term, the next great thing that happened set him on a different path entirely. 

The Head of King’s College at that time was Bail Organa. Luke had met him once or twice, and he was not only a very learned man; he was a kind one, and he could clearly see why the College had flourished under his leadership. He inspired learning, deep thinking, and the embracing of many different opinions and cultures; he was focused not on making his students successful, but on making them  _ men.  _

But only a short time before the end of his first year did Luke learn that this marvelous Head had a daughter--and a brilliant one at that.

He learned this while attending a seminar with his fellow classmates. Several of them--as well as Han--were of the opinion that the recent developments with the British were not nearly as serious as everyone else thought, and that the colonists who were speaking ill of them were speaking treasonously. Luke didn’t know a great amount about the situation, but he found that he agreed with them, and had been chosen to give a short speech. Unfortunately, Lando was on the other side of things. Luke listened respectfully to his argument, but by the end he already knew that he would demolish it. 

At last, he stood up, smiling briefly at Han, who as a friend of Luke had been given permission to attend the seminar as well. 

“Peers and friends at King’s College,” he began, and watched the room fall silent. “It has come to my attention that many people in the Colonies--including some of you--have grown angry or disappointed with the people of Great Britain, the people who rule over us; with an iron fist, some say. And it is true that they have issued a tax on many things: on stamps, on commerce, and finally, on tea. This is certainly unfortunate, especially as many of us struggle to make a living; I understand the problems with this, particularly as stated so eloquently by my dear friend, Lando Calrissian. Perhaps there should not be such an egregious tax on such trivial things. Perhaps those who rule over us are overstepping, taking advantage of their power, as it were. 

“But where the reaction to this takes a wrong turn is in the fighting between colonists and British soldiers in the streets, which has caused injury and the loss of life. Where this takes a wrong turn is in the mockery of those who rule over us--who, perhaps, rule over us for a reason--and in the dumping of hundreds of carts of tea into the Boston Harbor. Now, of course they have no cause to push such taxes on us; but consider, for a moment, the result of what many are beginning to call the ‘Boston Tea Party.’ Following this act, an even harsher tax was imposed until all the tea had been paid for; and for months, Boston itself was locked down. And, of course, this only caused more anger, more rioting...but have you stopped to think that there is a reason why they rule over this? I hinted at it before. But when we colonists have such a vicious reaction to what some, including myself, consider to be a  _ small  _ tax imposed...perhaps the British are wiser. Overstepping slightly, perhaps; abusing their power, perhaps. But they are not rioting. They are not destroying property. And, perhaps, we should try not to react in such a harsh manner--because if we do, we will never come to an agreement. Instead, we may come to war.” Luke looked around the room. “Do we want that? Do  _ any  _ of us want that?” He gestured to Lando, whose turn it was to respond, if he wished. “Do you want that?”

Lando stared at Luke for a moment, unfettered  _ awe  _ in his eyes, before he shook his head. “No.” 

“Then I have nothing more to say,” Luke said, and sat down to  _ deafening  _ applause. He was floored. He was supposed to keep an impassive expression, he knew this; but this, here, was the  _ proof  _ that he was skilled. He could be a statesman after all, he thought as Han grinned at him; millions would listen to his words! 

_ Maybe I do care about politics,  _ he thought giddily.  _ Maybe...maybe we’re all right, and I can help bring peace between the colonies and Britain-- _

“I have something to say,” proclaimed a voice, ruining the moment. 

There came a sharp  _ tap, tap, tap  _ across the floor, the marching of heels, and Luke--and all the other students--turned to stare. A  _ woman  _ had just entered the room. No, barely a woman; she hardly looked any older than Luke himself. She certainly needed those heels; she was short of stature, he could tell. But...the way she held herself...the resolve in those dark eyes…

“Ah...Leia,” Organa said, and even he didn’t know what to say. “I am surprised to see you here. You do know…”

“I know the protocol, Father,” she said, her accent sharp, clipped; she was wealthy. Of course she was wealthy, it suddenly struck Luke-- _ she was his daughter.  _ “But there is great turmoil in the city these days. Surely...just once…”

“Ah--ah, of course, my dear,” said Organa, stepping aside. “But if my peers were to hear of it--”

“Revolution is in the air,” Leia  _ Organa  _ went on, and she already had the poise of a queen. “A list of complaints has been drafted by many important men, but with the full support, the  _ aid  _ of their wives...and they have not been mentioned. It is an injustice. Mothma has spoken of it, and others as well--why have the freedoms of women not been defended? Many are asking that question...it has not been answered But we all know the answer.” She smiled tartly. “Our time is coming, Father. What your peers say is not important, and I think you know it.” 

Organa stared at his daughter for a long moment, and Luke thought he would rebuke her, remind her gently of her place; but he did not. 

_ That  _ was a surprise. 

Instead, he smiled. “I do know it. But we must be patient with others. Go on, make your speech.” His eyes twinkled. “I think I know what you’re going to say.” 

Leia returned the smile, and Luke for a moment wished she would turn that smile on  _ him-- _ then he wondered where that thought had come from. Seeking to distract himself, he turned around, expecting Han to roll his eyes, be more annoyed than usual--

And Han was leaning forward in his chair, staring straight at the Head’s daughter, mouth open, eyes shining...enraptured. 

Luke almost laughed. Han, the tough man from the streets, Han who took orders from nobody but himself, Han who was unattached, was  _ in love with Bail Organa’s daughter.  _

He almost laughed. 

But then Leia began to speak, and he promptly forgot. 

“Who gave that speech?” she asked, her voice echoing powerfully through the room, which was reminiscent of a real Parliament; and in which Leia was the Queen Elizabeth, the rare female given power due to her sheer force of will...and that alone. “I must ask. I heard all of yours; but I have something to say about the last one. Who was it?”

_ It was him,  _ and Luke suddenly realized that he did not want to speak up, because he could already tell that she disagreed. 

But she was only the Head’s daughter, not a real student; and a woman, and as such she had not been given much more of an education. What could  _ she  _ do? 

“Me,” he said, and Leia turned her head toward him; he saw the challenge, the fire ignited in her brown eyes, and simultaneously felt a spark of competition...and a spark of connection. “Luke Skywalker.” 

“Well,  _ Luke Skywalker,”  _ she said, and at the venom in her voice he suddenly wanted to slide down in his seat like a child, “let me tell you what  _ I  _ think, because I am not allowed to say that frequently, but you need to know. All of you need to know.” 

She said ‘all of you,’ but her gaze as she walked forward was firmly fixed on him. She was a lioness, and he was her prey. 

“You say,” she said, “that we are  _ right  _ to be ruled by the British, and  _ wrong  _ to protest the tax on tea, on stamps, on  _ everything,  _ to have  _ soldiers invade our homes.  _ Because they are wiser, because we revolt with violence. But,  _ Luke Skywalker,  _ you forget the fact that we are being killed. People are being killed, women--women like me--are being raped--” Organa, who had surely been expecting this, flinched all the same. “--or at the least put in incredibly vulnerable positions. The colonists are dying, if not physically then at least spiritually; and you are content to ignore it. I can see why. In here, in this lovely little school, you can do whatever you like; you are free to be yourselves, to learn, to laugh, to become greater. But once you move out, once you graduate...then you will see. You’ll be tiny people, people to squash; and the British will not care. Because, you say, they are not taxing us because they care about us. You say there were unfortunate effects of the Boston Tea Party? The lockdown of Boston? Even harsher taxes? And you do not think, for a moment, that it comes from an egotistic mindset that has taken hold of an entire Empire? 

“Because, gentlemen,” said Leia, pacing across the room, “we do not matter. We exist to pay off their great debt, won in the French and Indian War. Already in 1763, when I was a small girl, we were prohibited from moving west; the seeds were sown even then. And what did we do?  _ What did we do?  _ Nothing. We sat, and we waited. The British will get better, we said; this is but a temporary thing. A small thing. They are  _ wise,  _ after all,” she added, with a wolfish grin, and Luke had the sinking feeling that all of his arguments were being meticulously torn apart. “We waited. We had patience. But they imposed taxes that were harsher, and harsher, and all the while they have not cared. If we die of starvation, they do not care. If your mothers and lovers are raped at the hands of these soldiers, they do not care. They only care for their profit. You are attending this school for a great reason, hmm? To expand your minds? Reach your potential, and become  _ great men?  _

“Well,” she added, her tone growing more and more passionate, “it will not matter. Maybe it matters here; of course it does. But the moment you step out of this building, the moment you leave, your heads held high...you will be  _ ground into dust.  _ Crushed. You will work with all you have, and you will get nothing in return...because you are no longer colonists.” She stopped, in the center of the room, looking straight at Luke. “You are slaves.” 

She held Luke’s gaze for a long moment, an intense look burning in her eyes; shocked, he stared back. 

Then, the look vanished, and Leia Organa smiled clearly and curtseyed. 

“Thank you,” she said simply, then spun on her heel and marched out of the room. 

There was a long, long moment of silence, and then Organa clapped his hands together. “Well! I hope letting you indulge that was not too much; it’s a pity women are not allowed to speak out more often. She could change everyone’s mind immediately. But beyond that...wonderful speeches!” He smiled broadly. “I daresay you are all learning well. As a reward, you are dismissed early.” 

The other students got up to leave; Luke barely noticed them go. He was too stunned. Leia Organa, who had obviously never taken a class here, had just clearly and perfectly picked and dissected and destroyed his arguments...and with far more passion than he could ever hope to convey. Was...was the British Empire really so terrible? He’d come to the colonies hoping to become one of their citizens, and he had done so painstakingly, many students spoke favorably about it...but then, he didn’t really know much about the world outside the College, did he? Maybe they were killing people, or at least stealing their livelihood…

_ Am I a slave?  _

His father had been a slave. His father had been a slave in the West Indies; well, the official term had been “indentured servant,” but he had essentially been a slave, only slightly better off than the Africans stolen from their homes. And that wasn’t right, either...there were  _ so many things  _ that were wrong, he was realizing; and he couldn’t take care of them all…

But his father had been a slave, and had by some miracle worked his way to freedom...and then he’d either vanished, or died. Either way, though, Luke had known he was rising higher than his father, had taken pride in it…

Had he been wrong?

Was he a slave of the British?

Were they  _ all  _ slaves?

“Hey.” A pair of fingers snapped behind his ear, and he spun around to glare at Han. “Hey, earth to Luke. Come on, we’re the only ones in here, and I’m not even supposed to be here.” 

Luke just stared straight ahead. 

“Han,” he said softly, “I’m wondering if she might be right.” 

“Who?” For a moment, Han sounded confused; then, he sputtered. “Wait--wait,  _ Leia?  _ You don’t--you’re not--she’s a woman!” 

“Yeah.” Luke turned around slowly. “And you’re clearly in love with her.” 

Han looked at him like he was crazy. “I am  _ not.  _ I don’t know where you get your ideas, kid--”

“I saw the way you were looking at her. But--” Luke turned around. “That’s not the point. What if she is right? I just got here, I don’t know anything.”

“Kid.” Han gestured to himself. “Look who you’re talking to.” 

“Exactly! You’ve never been attached to anyone. You don’t hang around civilization. As far as I know, you barely have a permanent house for soldiers to invade. Before you met me, you routinely stole from people--”

“Luke, I’m insulted,” Han said with a scowl. “You think I stopped?”

Luke stared at him, dumbstruck, for a few seconds before continuing on. “Proves my point. You don’t owe anyone anything...so why should you care what happens to the people around here?” He stood up and began to pace. “But Leia knows. She’s been in the world; I’m sure she has friends out there. She knows about the Revolution--”

“Yeah, she’s got a lot of role models,” Han said, rolling his eyes. “Luke, they’re a bunch of crazies!”

“What if they’re not, though?” Luke paced faster. “What if...what if they’re brilliant, learned men, just like us? Just like me,” he amended. “You’re still, you know, stealing from people.”

Han stared at him for a few seconds before shrugging. “Okay. Okay, that’s a fair hit. But, Luke...what are you saying?” 

“We’ve got to do something about this,” he said. 

Han rolled his eyes. “Right. A petty thief and an immigrant kid who’s got a third of a degree.” 

Luke glared at him. 

“I’ll think of something,” he said. “Whether you like it or not, I’ll think of something. Just you wait.” 

  
  


Luke didn’t really know what he was supposed to think of. He’d been on fire in the moment, realizing that he might’ve been wrong; now he realized he still didn’t  _ know  _ anything. And besides, Han was probably right. What could he do while he was still attending King’s College. 

Then, after sleeping badly three nights in a row, he decided that there was one thing he could do: he could speak to Leia Organa. 

How he was going to find her, he had no idea. He also didn’t know what he would even  _ say  _ when he found her; she was so wonderful, so brilliant, so...so passionate. She’d probably steal his confidence with the first word out of her mouth, and only after she’d left would he remember what he was going to say. But he had to try.

So, after his Logic lesson, he went off across the grounds in search of Leia. The Organas lived in a very large house several blocks away; he was in good standing with the Head. All he had to do was knock. 

But as Luke approached the house, he realized that that was a singularly bad idea. What if Organa wasn’t home? What if it was his wife at home, or a servant who answered? Or...worst of all...what if it was  _ only  _ Leia inside the house? No, he couldn’t just walk right up and knock. 

He’d have to do it a different way. 

And, as Luke spotted a tall tree hanging right over the house, perfect for climbing, he knew how he would do it. There hadn’t been many trees on the island where he grew up--at least, not trees like  _ this-- _ but he’d always wanted to climb one. He’d climbed up the masts of wrecked ships as a boy; this couldn’t be much different. 

So he took a step forward...and then he stopped. 

What was he  _ doing?  _ Sneaking into the Headmaster’s house, just for the sake of speaking with his daughter? How, exactly would  _ that  _ look? He’d be in so much trouble…

But he hadn’t seen Leia ever since her speech that day. How else was he supposed to speak with her? 

Gritting his teeth, Luke made up his mind. He strode forward, seized the lowest hanging branch, and threw himself up. Almost immediately, he bashed his knee against the trunk, and barely held back a shout; but he maintained his grip, and managed to haul himself up slowly, seizing branch after branch, until he was on level with the top window. 

He didn’t want to peer inside. That would be wrong. But...if this was Leia’s room…

He leaned forward. The curtains were closed, but the window was open; and if the breeze blew them...he leaned forward, watching, heedless of how close he was moving to the edge of the branch. He could almost see…

“What are you doing?” said Leia’s voice from behind him. 

She was there, she was in the tree--Luke spun around, stumbled, lost his footing, and fell with a scream. 

He landed with a  _ thud  _ on his face, and tasted dirt. For a second, the world spun; and then, as he came back to himself, he heard the sound of laughing. 

Leia.

Hot embarrassment flooded him, and Luke jumped to his feet and turned around. Leia was sitting on a branch, wearing boy’s clothes and grinning down at him. 

“That,” he said, “was  _ not  _ funny. I am a scholar--”

“And,” she added airily, “you were also attempting to peer into my room. I do believe that that trumps everything else.” 

Luke looked down, embarrassed. 

“Yeah,” he said after a few seconds. “You’re right.” 

Leia crossed her arms over her chest. “Care to explain yourself?”

“Yes.” Luke looked up. “All I wanted was to find you...to talk to you.”

Leia groaned. “If this is about my speech, you can forget it. All I wanted was to speak my mind, but no one thinks I should, and I’d guess you feel the same. I can expect you want to tell me I’m too emotional; that’s everyone’s argument. Women are emotional, and therefore should not be allowed to study pure logic; surely you heard my passionate delivery. I’m often told I’m too passionate, and so exactly like a woman, but why should my experiences be any less valid?” She scoffed. “This is what comes from putting only men in charge of nations and schools and families--you don’t get anyone else’s perspective. Also, on that line of thought, if women ruled nations instead of men, we wouldn’t be in this sorry situation. I  _ guarantee  _ you that all this never would have happened under Queen Elizabeth. She wouldn’t feel the need to tax us heavily for the glorification of an inflated ego!”

It was difficult to talk during all this, or even think; Leia rattled off her words so quickly Luke could barely follow her. But finally, he’d had enough. 

“Oh, just  _ shut it,”  _ he snapped. “I wanted to talk to you because you changed my mind!” 

Leia blinked. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that. 

“Changed your mind,” she echoed, and then she narrowed her eyes. “Is this a trick?”

“No!” Luke couldn’t understand this girl; she was both awe-inspiring and annoying. “Why are you so bloody suspicious?”

Leia’s expression softened then; that was the closest to a smile Luke had gotten from her yet. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But generally I haven’t had good experiences with men.” 

Luke snorted. “That’s understandable. I haven’t either.” 

Leia stared at him for a long moment, and then she gave him a real smile. A moment later, she sat down and climbed down from the tree. 

“So,” she said breathlessly, “you believe me? You believe that the British are controlling us, they are mining us for everything that we--”

“I don’t know,” Luke said, cutting her off before she gave another speech. “See, I’m an immigrant, technically. I just arrived here last year from the Island of Nevis, in the West Indies. And, after spending almost a year here, I thought I knew about things, but…” He shrugged. “I guess I’m realizing I don’t know anything.” 

“That’s all right,” Leia said gently. “I’ll tell you. Do you happen to know...Lando Calrissian? He’s one of the students--”

“Of course!” Luke exclaimed. “He’s one of my friends.” 

“This might surprise you,” Leia said, “but did you know that he holds weekly meetings in one of the parlors? They’re all...well, what people are calling themselves. Patriots. They talk routinely about the problems facing people in the Colonies.”

They were actually doing something, Luke realized. 

These young men were in the same position he was, and they were  _ doing something.  _

“All right,” he said, “I’ll give it a shot.” He smiled, feeling a bit awkward. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Now it was Leia’s turn to look awkward. “And I’m...sorry if I assumed things, earlier. I shouldn’t have done that. I was not thinking logically.” 

“I don’t think I was either,” Luke said wryly. “It’s all right. I’ll, uh…” He frowned. “Will I see you later?”

“I don’t come on the grounds much,” Leia admitted. “I’m rather involved with the Daughters of Liberty.” 

_ Rather involved...Daughters of Liberty.  _

She was a woman, and yet…and yet she was still doing something. 

“But you can find me here,” Leia added with a smile, “on most mornings and evenings.”

“That sounds...wonderful,” Luke said, and it really was. “I like you, Leia Organa. I’ll see you then.” 

He turned to go. 

“Oh, Luke?”

He turned back. Leia was grinning. 

“Next time you come to see me,” she said, “please go through the front door.” 

Luke laughed. 

“I plan on it,” he said. 

  
  


After the meeting with Leia, Luke began attending these meetings; first he was silent, deciding just to listen...but then, as he began to make friends, and as the year drew to a close, he decided not only that he believed these Patriots, but also began speaking more frequently. They said farewell for the summer, and when he returned for the second year, it was with fresh vigor and new knowledge on the subject. Quickly, Luke Skywalker became the most knowledgeable person on the grounds, both about everything they were learning, and about the budding Revolution itself. The courses he took this next year were increasingly difficult, of course, and he studied and worked more and more; but simultaneously, he began to practice his sharpshooting. After all, earning a degree was not his ultimate goal.  _ Fighting  _ was his goal,  _ making a difference  _ was his aim. An education was just the first step to getting there. With every passing day, he heard more and more of his classmates talk about the “war with the British,” he heard whispers of injustice in the streets, of the hatred of the “Lobsterbacks,” as the soldiers were disdainfully called. 

“Good thing they wear such bright red,” muttered one of Luke’s new friends, Wedge Antilles, one day. “If we happen to shoot them in the back, at least the blood won’t ruin the lovely color.” 

The second year passed, and the third, and Luke grew closer with his new friends, and with his professors, and especially with Leia Organa and Lando Calrissian. They were both great assets to the small group that had formed, in different ways: Leia was allowed to attend the meetings now, and her combination of knowledge and a powerful voice gave her speeches a kind of sway that not even Luke could manage; and Lando, being a year ahead of Luke, had many connections in the College and was often able to sway opinions based solely on his popularity. But through it all, Luke had one frustration: Han Solo. 

Han had met his new friends, of course; although he hadn’t shown it, Luke knew he had been very eager to meet Leia face to face. But no matter how many times Luke told him about the problems facing the American colonies, he would not listen. And finally, towards the end of Luke’s third year, he made an alarming announcement: he was leaving for Boston. 

“What?” Luke didn’t want to believe it; despite the difference in opinions, he was Luke’s best friend. “Why would you do that?”

“You’re leaving yourself, kid,” Han told him curtly; he wasn’t even looking at him, he was cleaning his rifle. “You’ve almost earned your degree, and then obviously you’ll be off. Lando’s already graduated. I’ve got nothin’ around here.”

“Of course you do,” Luke insisted. “I’m not leaving New York!” 

“Of course you are.” Han leaned back in his chair. “You say you’re not, but I’ve seen you practicing with your friends--the minute they head off for the war, this  _ Revolution,  _ you will too.”

Luke sat down across from him, ripped the rifle out of his hands, and slammed it down on the table. 

“Then  _ come with us,”  _ he said. “You know what’s about to happen! You’ve been hearing it for three years, ever since I met you; I didn’t listen back then, but I do now. And now we either have to do something, or let things be done to us.”

Han raised his eyebrows. 

“Okay, that’s not exactly how I meant that to come out, but you know what I mean! Come on, Han. Where do you go every weekend? Where have you just been now?”

“Hunting,” Han ground out. 

“Right. Exactly. And what do you get from that? I’ve got enough money for both of us now. You don’t need that.” 

“Yes, I do,” Han said, sitting up. “It  _ stimulates  _ me, gets my mind off things--”

“Sure. I bet it does.” Luke never would have come up with an argument like this three years ago; but thanks to Leia, he knew exactly what he was going to say. “But why do that? It’s meaningless, pointless. Why not take this rifle…” He seized the barrel and rotated the weapon to the left. “And turn it on some Lobsterbacks, huh?”

“And get myself shot?” Han rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.” 

“You really think  _ you’ll  _ get shot? You’re Han Solo. You did just fine before I came along, but…” Luke gave Han the most innocent look he was capable of giving. “But what if I’m out there? Before I came here, I didn’t know how to shoot. What if I’m out there in the middle of a battle...and no one’s got my back?”

“Oh, kid, don’t say that. You’ve got so many friends I can’t even count ‘em. Why wouldn’t one of them have your back?”

“Oh, you know what they say,” Luke said lightly. “The revolutionaries are stretched thin. Maybe they’re in an entire different company. Maybe I’m out there, leading the charge, all by myself...and there’s no one to warn me before I get shot in the back?”

“No,” Han told him fiercely, stabbing a finger in Luke’s chest. “That is  _ not  _ going to happen.”

“I didn’t sign up to win,” Luke shot back. “I’m signing up because I’m doing something  _ right,  _ Han--”

“Even if it gets you killed?”

“Even if it gets me killed! My whole life, death was just around the corner--growing up where I grew up, I never knew if I was gonna get killed, whether from some disease or a tavern shootout or anything. But you know what? Now I can actually risk my life for something good. For the first time in my life, Han, I’ve found  _ meaning!”  _ He stood up. “And if it gets me killed...so be it.” 

He turned and walked toward the door. 

“No,” Han called after him. “No, no, no, Luke--hey! Stop!” 

Luke stopped and turned around slowly, trying to look irritated. 

_ Please...please let that have convinced him… _

“Luke, you graduate in five days,” Han said. “You can’t tell me the first thing you do after that is to go and get yourself killed!”

“Uh...yeah,” Luke said. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Or else win this war, because everyone around us needs it. Most likely, you’ll never see me again.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless...you wanna go and get yourself killed with me?”

Han stared at him incredulously, and Luke could see that his friend was trying to work out what to say; then, he burst out laughing. 

Luke could no longer restrain himself. He grinned. 

_ He’d done it.  _

“Ah, kid, you’re full of shit,” Han said affectionately, slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “But I can’t get rid of you, can I? I don’t exactly believe in your little ideology, but I’ve never been too fond of the British myself.” 

Luke rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you tell me you served with them once?”

“Of course, kid. That’s  _ why  _ I’m not fond of the British.” 

Luke pretended to be surprised. “Everything makes so much sense now.” 

“Of course it does.” Han opened the door, and they walked outside together. “Now, come on. Let’s go hunt some lobsters.” 

  
  
  


As graduation approached, Luke waited anxiously; he knew how fast things were going to go once he and Wedge and everyone else was out of King’s College. Everyone talked about it. But after it happened, he was still surprised at how fast it really went. 

First came the most awful week of studying he had ever experienced in his life, and he was not alone. Near all of his fellow classmates were studying their materials late into the night, practicing speeches until the younger students told them to shut it and go to sleep, writing papers until their fingers ached. For four days Luke barely slept; he was too busy, as was everyone else. 

Then, the day of his final examination dawned: he was nervous, but he passed everything with flying colors. And on the way back from the examination hall, he noticed a peculiar sight: Han and Leia were sitting underneath the great tree outside, talking. 

Curious, Luke thought.  _ That  _ was interesting. He hadn’t seen Han much this week; well. He hadn’t seen much of anyone this week, but Han always seemed to be around. 

Maybe he’d taken advantage of Luke’s studying to get to know Leia. 

Luke almost intervened--poor Han, he thought, when Leia tore into him for his current apathetic mindset. But, he realized, for the first time, they weren’t arguing. 

With a smile, he returned to his apartments. 

The following day came his graduation. It was the proudest day of his life, the great culmination of his arrival on this great soul three years ago. As he sat there, waiting, he began to feel anxious; only Leia's and Han's reassuring looks kept him calm. Then, when Bail Organa read his name, his heart sped up again...and when Leia Organa herself handed him his diploma, a kind smile on her face, he was on top of the world. 

He, Luke Skywalker, an  _ immigrant,  _ had done it. He'd received an education...and now he could do anything. 

That night, the last night that any of them would be together, they went out to a local tavern. It was risky, of course, for Leia to go with them, but as she was accompanied by Luke, Wedge, and half a dozen other well-trusted graduates, Organa allowed it this once. They laughed and sang the entire way there, everyone congratulating Luke for graduating top of the class; there could not be, he thought, a moment better than this. 

Then he entered the tavern...and it got better. 

Han and Lando, against all odds, were standing there, as well as the students from prior classes: Cassian Andor, Kanan Jarrus--along with his lovely young wife--Bodhi Rook, and about a dozen others. 

“Skywalker!” they roared, lifting their glasses as one. 

Luke tried to hold back; he really did. But he’d had a long, wonderful day, and he was surrounded by friends, so several tears escaped him. 

“I...I can’t even believe it,” he croaked. “Three years ago I was just an immigrant kid, I didn’t know anything, or anyone...and now I’m top of the class, and--and--”

He couldn’t say anything more, or he was going to start sobbing. 

Fortunately, Han knew what to do. 

“Oh come here, you rascal,” said Han, bringing him in for a hug; and immediately, everyone else joined in, until Luke was at the center of a manyfold hug. After several seconds, they released him. 

They sat and drank, and talked, for many hours, telling stories of their best times at King’s College; Leia even reenacted her famous speech, standing on top of a table, except that it was much shorter and rambled far more(she had already had several drinks). And, many times, they shouted the praise of the Continental Army, and the Patriots, and the Sons and Daughters of Liberty. 

Finally, as the night began to fade, and the sun began to rise, Luke’s companions trickled out, one by one...and then, all that remained were himself, Leia, Han, and Lando. 

“So,” Leia said, “I know that Luke and Lando are already leaving, but…” She looked at Han. “Please tell me you’re going with them.” 

“I am,” Han said, though he looked none too happy about it. “The  _ kid  _ over here fairly  _ bullied  _ me into it.” 

Leia smiled at Luke. “Thank you.” 

“It’s too bad you can’t come with us,” Luke said. “It’s just my opinion, but...I think you’d be pretty good with a rifle.” 

“Better than you,” Lando teased, and Leia blushed. 

“No need to worry,” she said, “I’m far from uninvolved. I have been to see the Daughters; we’ve raised enough money to give you all five times the amount of supplies that were promised.” 

All three young men were shocked. 

_ “What?”  _ Han echoed. “How did you do that?”

“I think you know.” Leia arched an eyebrow at him. “I can be very persuasive.” 

Han, to Luke’s absolute surprise, smiled. “You are, sweetheart.”

Luke looked between them. There was  _ definitely  _ something going on. 

“Look at the four of us,” he sighed, leaning back. “I never would’ve thought, but...an immigrant, a thief...a Headmaster’s daughter...a Frenchman.” He beamed. “It’s brilliant.” 

Han leaned forward. “You gettin’ sentimental, kid?”

“No...or maybe I am. I don’t know, I’m just stating facts.” Luke looked around at his three friends; and maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was near four in the morning, and that he was at least half drunk, but even seeing them all here made him want to cry. “Everything’s going to change for us tomorrow. We’re joining the war...well. Except Leia. She’s been in it for years.” 

Leia grinned. 

“Doesn’t matter how long we’ve been in it,” she said. “All that matters is that we’ve all decided to rise up, and get off our knees, for a greater cause.” She raised her glass. 

Luke was sure he would burst into tears then; but he didn’t. So, instead, he lifted his near-empty glass in the air. 

“Here’s to the four of us,” he said. “And the Revolution...and freedom!” 

Three shouts followed. They clinked their glasses together, and drank. 

Tomorrow, Luke knew, everything would change. But that hadn’t happened yet. Tonight it was not about the American Revolution, or the British, or even his graduation. It was just about him, and Leia Organa, and Han Solo, and Lando Calrissian. 

And nothing that happened tomorrow, or in the days that followed, would take that away from him. 


	2. Act Two

_“Run for it! Take cover!”_

It had been several months since Luke Skywalker had graduated from King’s College and left with the Continental Army...and he was beginning to wish he was back at school. 

The battalion of colonists was fighting a losing battle. After several disastrous losses, they’d been on the run from the British for the last twenty-four hours...but the hated Redcoats had cornered them, taking over a hilltop while the Continental Army ran for cover below. Bullets rained down like hail, down the hill, right onto the weakened, exhausted men; bullets that were every now and then accompanied by the blast of a cannon. 

Those damned cannons. 

_We need to get out,_ Luke thought, looking around desperately as one man after the other dropped like flies. _We need to--_

One of the lieutenants fell with a scream. 

“Cover!” he shouted. “We--we need to get to the trees--”

But no one was listening. He couldn’t find Han or Lando anywhere; Leia hadn’t come with the reinforcements yet, and until she did, they were alone. 

A sharp pain, and a last-minute movement barely saved Luke’s life. He threw himself out of the way, leaping farther than he’d intended, until he landed sprawled on the ground. 

“Luke!” He looked up; Cassian was holding out a hand to him. “Luke, are you all right?”

Luke struggled to focus on him; he coughed, dragging himself up on his knees. 

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah, I--”

Then he spotted the cannon across the way. 

“Cassian!” he screamed. “Get down!” 

Too late. An explosion rang out--Luke was blown backward, with more force than he’d ever felt in his life. He barely felt himself slam into one of the trees, barely heard someone call out his name; all he knew was he had to--he had to get to Cassian--

There was a hand on his arm, someone trying to drag him away. He forced his eyes open and tried to shake them off--

“Hey.” Han’s voice. “Hey, kid, you need to--”

“Cassian,” Luke groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “Where is he--I--” He stumbled forward. “I have to--”

“Kid, it’s not worth it,” Han shouted, but Luke was already running forward, looking--searching--

Cassian. There he was; that was his arm. 

Luke grabbed Cassian’s arm, pulled him--

The arm came loose. 

Luke stared in horror, trying to comprehend what had happened. He--Cassian had been--

His arm was all that was left. 

The rest of him had been blown to pieces. 

“Luke!” Han was at his side again; Luke barely noticed him. “Luke, _come on,_ I know, I know what it looks like but we gotta run!”

Cassian had been the first person he’d met at King’s College…

_“Well, Luke, nice to meet you. I think you’ll fit in here.”_

Luke closed his eyes against the sight and simply let go; let Han pull him away, didn’t resist. The smell of death was all around him, the screaming and dying of his fellow men was all around him--

Death had pursued him for the longest time. For years, as he grew up, across the sea, and now into a war. But this…

This was the first friend he’d had in America, besides Han; and now he was dead. 

The first friend who had died. 

How many more, he wondered as he opened his eyes that were caked with dust and blood, as shouts came from the trees and more Continental soldiers came pouring in, sent by Leia Organa. A moment ago, Luke would have been shouting with them; now he was silent. 

_How many more of my friends will die until we’re free?_

  
  


“Luke.” 

Luke looked up with tired eyes; Lando was approaching him, carrying a cup of something hot in his hands...and a blanket. He looked purposefully away. 

“Luke, come on,” Lando said. “It’s been two days. You at least need to _eat_ something.” 

Luke sighed. “Lando, I’m not talking about it.” 

“I’m not saying you have to talk.” Lando draped the blanket around his shoulders; it was warmer than Luke had expected, and he pulled it tighter around him. He hadn’t realized he was shivering. 

Then there was a soft thump, and Lando sat down beside him. 

“Just eat this.” Lando handed him the cup. “It’s soup, nice and hot. It’ll do you some good.” 

Reluctantly, Luke started to sip it. It _was_ good, and much as he hated to admit it, it was starting to make him feel better. 

“Who made it?” he asked quietly.

“Wedge,” Lando replied. “Did you know he’s a good cook?”

“No. And I didn’t want to,” Luke said bitterly. “The more I know about someone, the more likely they are to die. Isn’t that how it works?”

“Luke--” Lando sounded on the verge of saying several things, but instead he just sight. “You can’t take this personally. It’s _war._ These things happen.” 

Luke set the cup down. 

“But how much longer are they going to happen?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “How much longer, Lando? I graduated over a year ago. I thought we were actually going to do some _good,_ march out there, take out the British...but I guess I was wrong. We’re a bunch of college students! What are we supposed to do?” He kicked the table idly. “You know, Han was right. Han was right all along, he said I’d get killed--and now some of us _are_ going to get killed. Maybe we’re all going to--”

“Hey, _hey!”_ Lando shook his arm. “Don’t go there, all right? It won’t happen.” He winked. “You have to make it home for Leia.” 

Luke nudged him. “Hey, I told you. There is absolutely _nothing_ romantic between us.” 

“I know, I know.” Lando chuckled. “I’m trying to cheer you up.” 

“Oh.” Luke looked away. “I know. And thank you. But, Lando...I’ve tried. I’ve tried hard to fight, to lead all of you as well as I can, but I’m not cut out for it. It’s...it’s…”

“That cannon,” Lando finished. 

“It’s--well, yes,” Luke huffed. “That. It is most certainly that bloody cannon, I _hate_ that thing. I can’t get past that; it tears through...through everyone. But…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I believed in something when I left King’s College. In honor. In freedom. I thought I had what it took. And...maybe I don’t.” 

Lando sighed. “I get the feeling. I was the only Frenchman in that college for a long time. Do you know what things are like back home? They’re worse than they are here. I thought I could make America better, learn from the lessons of my homeland to improve the situation. But, Luke…” Lando put a hand on his arm; Luke turned and looked into his friend’s brown eyes, which were, at the moment, filled only with concern. “One person can’t do everything. Not you, not me…not even Leia.” 

“Yeah.” Luke started eating his soup again; Wedge really was a good cook. “One _cannon_ sure can do a lot though,” he said through his mouthful of soup. “If only they weren’t firing that thing at us, we’d be able to beat them and actually accomplish the victory we were supposed to, instead of _running._ If only _we_ had that cannon, then we could really do some good, but…” 

He trailed off. 

The cup of soup, mostly empty, dropped to the floor. 

“What?” Lando asked him. “What’s wrong?”

Luke ignored him, busy looking around the room. They had their usual group...plus several dozen new soldiers. Fresh blood. This was the best group they were ever going to get. 

This was the only _chance_ they were going to get. 

Just like that, the fire returned to him, the determination, and he knew _exactly_ what he was going to do. 

“That’s it,” he said, dropping his soup and turning to Lando, who stared eagerly at him. “I’ve got it! We’ll _steal_ the cannon!” 

Immediately, the look of excitement dropped from Lando’s face. 

“No,” he said, horrified. “No. Luke, I know you’ve been depressed, I know you need a way to fix this, but promise me--”

Luke ignored him and stood up. “Han. I need to find Han.” 

Lando’s agitation increased, as if he knew finding Han would only solidify Luke’s decision, and he stood up with him. “No. No, no, Luke, this is a terrible idea. There has to be a different way to solve this. We can figure it out--”

Luke turned to Lando with a smile. “Trust me, Lando. I’ve got it all figured it out.” 

“Okay,” Lando said. “How? What’s the plan?”

Luke tapped his head. “It’s in here.”

Lando groaned. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke said with a laugh. “It’ll work out. You’ll see!” 

Lando started to mutter something, but Luke didn’t wait to hear what it was. Leaving the soup behind, blanket still wrapped around him, he took off into the crowd. 

He had work to do. 

  
  


Han was sitting down, to Luke’s surprise, in the center of a circle of men. His feet were propped up on a table...and he was in the middle of a story. 

“--bastard said I had to sign it or get demoted,” he was saying, a sly grin on his face. “And then I told him, ‘you can stick that letter up my ass!’” 

The men roared with laughter. 

“And then what?” asked one of them, and to Luke’s surprise, it was the defected British soldier, Bodhi. “What did he do then?”

Han smirked. “Well. He looked flustered at first, but then he pulled out his pistol--”

“Han!” Luke said. “Can I talk to you?”

Han, unfortunately, happened to be holding an empty bottle, and he threw it on the floor so it shattered. 

“Luke, you can’t do this to me,” he said. “I’m telling the story of when I was serving with the British--”

“He’s exactly like me,” said Bodhi with a grin. “We both left the Lobsters!” He leaned forward excitedly. “Why are they called the Lobsters?”

Luke knew what was coming. He rolled his eyes. Somehow, “Lobsterbacks” had simply become “Lobsters” and been shortened to the worst joke of all time. 

“Because,” Han said mischievously, “when we kill them--”

“We’re going to boil them alive!” he and Bodhi said together, and half the men laughed with them. 

_“Han!”_ he snapped, and Han raised his arms in surrender. 

“All right, all right!” He waved a hand at the soldiers. “Get outta here.” 

As they cleared, Luke raised an eyebrow at Han. In response, Han rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said. 

“What look?” Luke said innocently. 

“Don’t play dumb with _me,_ kid. You know, the “I-told-you-so-you-actually-belong-with-people-you’re-a-softie-after-all” look,” he said. 

“Well.” Luke snorted. “It’s true.” He frowned. “Now, can I ask you now or should I wait for the hangover tomorrow?”

Han scowled. “I’m sober. And trust me, kid, waiting for the hangover is a bad idea. I’ll be less likely to remember it then.” 

“Oh, fine.” Secretly, Luke was excited. It meant he would be able to get his plan together now. Quickly, he pulled up a chair. “I just have one question for you.” 

Han arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Yeah?”

“Would you like to steal some cannons?”

Han’s eyes widened. The look of irritation left his eyes, and he grinned, looking as if he’d waited all his life for this one question. 

“Hell yeah,” he said. 

  
  


They waited a day and a half, to brief the men and prepare for the raid; but Luke didn’t want them to take too long. The British had spies all over; they could easily be tipped off. After all, they had twenty-four cannons to steal; failure would mean their death. Then, the following night, long before the sun had risen, the men roused themselves immediately, wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, and headed off into the dead, cold night. 

The British camp was several miles off, up a sharp incline and slightly to the east; they had attempted, it seemed, to go after the Patriots, but had stopped. Why? Luke could only wonder about that, but not too much. The important thing was getting to the cannons; and in the interest of stealth, they had not taken horses. 

“We’ll have to go around the river when we come back,” he whispered to Han and Lando as they approached. “We don’t have boats; we won’t be able to drag the cannons through it.” 

“They’ll have coverings,” Lando said. “The British will have kept them well protected. Nonetheless...we will have to exercise caution.” 

“Caution be damned,” Han growled. “All I want is to see the looks on their stupid faces when we steal these cannons.” 

“We’re not supposed to be close enough to see the looks on their faces,” Luke said, hoping this did not lead to Han doing something incredibly stupid. “Remember?”

“Fine,” Han muttered. 

They slogged through the wet countryside for over an hour, their boots tracking up cold mud and eventually freezing water during the trek through the river. Luke found himself desperately wishing they _had_ brought horses, or warmer cloaks, or _something--_ but it was worth it, because soon they were standing on the bank, facing the hill. 

At the top, he could see several tents spread apart. 

“That’s it,” he breathed, terrified of speaking too loudly. “We just climb that hill, and we’re there. Do we have the ropes?”

Bodhi Rook stepped forward. 

“We do,” he said, fire in his eyes. 

“All right,” Luke said. “Half of you, come with me to take the cannons. The rest will stay with Lando down here, to cover us and make sure we get the cannons across safely.” 

“Wait a minute,” Lando said. “You didn’t clear this with me.” 

“No, because I knew you’d object,” Luke explained patiently. “But we can’t risk us all getting shot immediately.” 

Lando didn’t seem to like that, but he said nothing more against it. 

“All right,” he said. “But I’d better get to shoot some Lobsterbacks someday soon.”

“Oh,” Luke said with a smile. “I have no doubt you will.” 

  
  


Then came the last and final part of the mission: the trek up the hill. It was difficult to move both quickly and quietly, but they did; and all the while, Luke was struggling not to panic, not to breathe too loudly. What if, somehow, the British knew? What if they were stopped? 

_It has to work,_ he thought. _My plan has to work._

Because...if it didn’t…

No. He wouldn’t think about that. 

But if it failed, they’d all be dead. And it would be _his fault._

They continued upward, with utmost silence, terrified for what they would see when they reached the top. Slowly they came, slowly...slowly closer…

“Here we come,” Wedge muttered. 

Luke put his hand on his pistol; they had only taken pistols with them, not rifles, to effectively move the cannons away. 

But when they arrived at the top, all the Redcoats were asleep. 

“Well,” Han whispered. “That wasn’t so--”

“Shut up,” Luke hissed at him. “Now come on,” he said to the others, “move quickly.” 

The cannons were at the edge of the camp, covered with blankets and other materials, and the soldiers quickly got to work tying them together, four to a group. They couldn’t manage more than that, but they also had to do the work quickly. It was a dangerous job, but they got the cannons tied within minutes. And, as far as Luke had noticed, so far none of the Lobsterbacks had woken up.

“All right,” he whispered. “Now, let’s get them out of here.” 

The soldiers moved slowly this time, trying not to damage the cannons as they rolled them carefully out of the camp and back down the hill. Luke held his breath, heart hammering in his chest as he waited, eyes on the rest of the camp, for everyone to move out...but nothing happened. All twenty-four of the cannons were safely moved out. Once every cannon was safely going down the hill, Luke turned away from the British. 

And then he saw, down below, Lando waving his arms furiously. 

“Stop,” he told his men. “Stop!” 

So, halfway down the hill, they stopped. Luke looked, trying to see what Lando was warning him about, and then…

Boats. Half a dozen boats were crossing the river…

And they were full of British soldiers. 

They _had_ been tipped off. 

“Go!” Luke shouted. “GO!” 

At once, everything was chaos. The Patriots didn’t wait another second; already they were pushing the cannons, faster than they had before, down the hill, and in seconds most of them were on flat ground. But then, right behind them with a shout, came the British soldiers from their tents, already fully dressed and running right for them. And then there were the _other_ Patriots, led by Lando, running forward and firing at full strength. Luke, the last down the hill, was instantly caught between them; one shell flew over his head, and he ducked, threw himself the rest of the way down the hill, and came to a stop on the ground. Even then he didn’t stop; there was no rest in war. Immediately, he was back on his feet and running. 

He came to a stop several meters from the hill, next to Han, who was helping to pull one of the cannons. 

“This is absolutely insane,” Han said. “They obviously knew we were coming!” They ducked as a wave of bullets were fired from the British reinforcements. “How the hell are we getting out of here?”

“I don’t know,” Luke admitted. “The plan was to go around the long way, but with all of this, I don’t see how--”

He froze. They were right in the crosshairs of the British reinforcements, who were coming in on their dozens of boats…

Their dozens of very _large_ boats. 

“What?” Han asked. “You got another brilliant idea?”

“Maybe.” Luke frowned. “You see those boats?”

“Luke, I think we _all_ see those boats.” 

“What if,” Luke said, “we didn’t have to go the long way around?”

“Who are you kidding? The water’s too deep, it-- _ohhhh.”_ Han glanced at Luke. “You know, they just might hold.” 

“They might. Go spread the word!” 

Han let go of the cannon. “And kill some Lobsters?”

Luke sighed. “And kill some Lobsters.” 

Grinning like a schoolboy, Han dashed off. 

But now Luke had a greater task ahead of him: somehow, he had to get these British _off_ the boats and the cannons _into_ them. It sounded easy enough, in theory; but when several hundred soldiers were firing from both directions, it was not so easy. 

Nevertheless, he would have to do it. 

Bodhi was right in front of him; he’d be eager for some action. Quickly, Luke tapped his shoulder. 

“Stop with the cannons for the moment,” he said. “Focus all your fire on the men in those boats!”

Bodhi nodded grimly and motioned several other men forward. Shouting together, they ran forward, firing straight ahead. The soldiers in the foremost boat, just setting foot on land, were taken by surprise; clearly, they had not expected this assault from the colonists pulling the cannons. Most of them were down in minutes; Luke waved them forward. 

“Next boat!” he shouted. “We need to get some of these clear before we start loading the cannons!” 

By that point, most of the men had heard of the change in plans, and for the most part, they were accepting, even enthusiastic. They acted quickly, knocking the newcomers into the water and then moving to guard each empty boat. 

After a few minutes, Han returned, out of breath and looking grim. 

“How’s it coming?” he asked. 

“Boats are almost empty.” Luke looked over his shoulder; Lando’s group was being overrun. “But those men coming down the hill...that could be a problem.” 

“Then we’d better get the cannons loaded fast,” Han said, then marched forward. “Come on!” 

The next job was a slower, more dangerous one; somehow, they had to get all of the cannons into the boats while the British were behind them. But, amazingly, the soldiers who’d been running and fighting all night did not stop even for a moment. They came forward, dodging bullets and continuing to shove men out of boats, as they loaded cannons. At first, Luke watched with bated breath, expecting the boats to collapse under the cannons’ weight...but, miraculously, they held. 

They _held._

Luke couldn’t believe it. He absolutely could not believe it, but they had stolen twenty-four cannons, they had emptied the boats, the boats were holding the cannons, the men were starting to escape with them...and there had hardly been any casualties. He looked around, amazed--

But Lando’s men were still fighting. 

He had no idea what was going on, Luke realized. 

“Lando!” Luke shouted. “Time to go!” 

Lando looked at the boats, did a double take, and then waved his men toward them. 

And then, a boat started to dock. 

A boat. A boat, with British men inside--Luke stared in horror. _They’d missed one._

He almost decided to take them all himself, but then decided that even he couldn’t pull that off; they would just have to leave a few of the cannons behind. Of course, he realized, he would also have to deal with the fact that now half a dozen Redcoats, in addition to the hundreds coming from behind, were shooting at him; but six men were nothing. 

“Come on!” Bodhi shouted. “We need one more!” 

The boats had almost completely taken off. He had to do it. Gritting his teeth, Luke marched forward, past Han’s stunned face, seized the cannon, and dragged it through a hail of incoming fire to the river’s bank. 

“Luke--” Han stuttered. “You--they’re coming!”

“Yeah, that’s a little obvious, isn’t it? Help me get this thing in here.” 

“Don’t get cocky,” Han muttered, but he helped Luke lift the cannon into the boat; and then, with that secure, they would not be fitting any more cannons into boats. They would have to leave three behind, but that was the way of things, Luke supposed. He jumped into the last boat, and the rest of the men either leaped into boats or took off swimming across the river. 

_Twenty-one cannons,_ he thought as Lando and some of his men continued to fire at the British from a distance. _Not bad, Skywalker. Not bad at all._

  
  


“Hey, Captain, look at this.” 

Captain Skywalker, known as Luke to his friends, looked up. It had been several months since the great stealing of the British cannons, and in that time he had made several more military victories, had reunited with Leia for Christmas, and had been officially promoted to Commander. The earlier despair about the war was gone; he had since lost, of course, many more men...but no more close friends. Han had since gone off in command of his own regiment, taking Kanan and Bodhi with him; and they had achieved several victories of their own. 

Han Solo, much as he would have hated to admit it, was now a war hero. 

Luke was a war hero as well, but for him, it came at a price; as a Commander, not only did he lead every battle, he also had to take charge of the paperwork. The battles he didn’t have a problem with; but the paperwork was another thing entirely. When everyone else went to bed, he was writing letters to other captains and commanders, making sure his soldiers had all the equipment they needed, and other things, and as a result was more exhausted and got less sleep. 

But it also meant that he had a beautiful desk, which partly made up for it.

Now, at half past midnight, Wedge was standing in front of said desk, a letter in hand and a very grim look on his face. 

“What is it, Wedge?” Luke asked wearily. He’d just finished all his work, and he was extremely anxious to get into bed and get some _rest._ They had won a difficult battle today. 

“It’s...it’s General Vader,” Wedge said. “He says he...wants to speak with you.” 

Luke blinked. 

“General _Vader?”_ he echoed. _“The_ General Vader?”

Wedge nodded. 

“What…” Luke struggled to find the words to say. “What does he want?”

He couldn’t imagine what was going on. Usually when people were asked to see _the Commanding General of the Continental Army,_ it wasn’t because they were doing a stellar job. But then, what had he done wrong? 

“I don’t know,” Wedge said; he looked shocked, himself. “All _this_ says is that he wants to meet you at his camp in Trenton, New Jersey.” 

Slowly, Luke took the letter from him. It read:

_To the most esteemed Captain of the Fifth Artillery Company, Luke Skywalker:_

_Greetings._

_You are doubtless busy with matters of war; I, and others, have heard tales concerning your strategic victories. Nonetheless, I must endeavor to, briefly, draw you away from your post._

_You must come to Trenton and meet with me, as soon as possible. I wish to speak with you._

_Yours,_

_General Vader_

Luke looked up at Wedge. 

“You call this a letter?” he said. “It’s more like a blunt message.” 

“Luke, I know it’s a demand,” Wedge said, “but...he’s _the general._ You have to go.” 

“I know. It probably means my demotion, or something worse, but I’ll go.” Luke stood up. “Can you take control of the company for a few days? Or...however long I’m gone?”

Wedge nodded. “Of course.”

  
  
  


Luke left the following morning. He had slept terribly, but he left. 

He was wholly unprepared for the _size_ of Vader’s camp. 

He thought being promoted to Captain, and being put in charge of his own artillery company, had been phenomenal, but compared to _this,_ everything he had was worthless. There were about a hundred tents spread out. Important-looking men walked back and forth through the camp, some on decorated horses; several fires dotted the landscape. But as Luke walked, his boots tracking mud, he realized something else. As many men as there were, as large as this camp was...it looked _miserable._ The men’s coats had clearly once been expensive; now they were tattered and worn. And beyond that, there was a pinched look of desperation, of hopelessness, in everyone’s face. 

Luke knew that the war had been going badly on this end of things...but he hadn’t known it was _this_ bad. 

Was Vader angry at him because of that? Because Luke should have been doing more? He’d done all he could...and they’d been doing well lately…

Shrugging his shoulders, Luke continued on through the camp. 

After several minutes, and one instance of asking directions, he found his way to the tent in the center: it was at least twice as large as the others, and appeared to be made of a richer material. He hesitated before the guard. 

“Uh...I’m here on military business,” he said.

“Name and rank, please,” said the guard, as if bored. 

“Captain Luke Skywalker, Fifth Artillery Company?”

The guard blinked, a change coming over his face. “Skywalker? Oh, yes. He’s been expecting you. Go right in.” 

Luke swallowed, but walked forward. 

Inside the tent, someone was standing in front of a desk, talking to someone; Luke couldn’t see who it was. He waited. 

“--must move immediately, if we’re going to drive them out of New York for good,” the man was saying. “We cannot keep waiting here, like sitting ducks!” 

“You underestimate the British, Veers,” said the other man, and Luke realized that that _must_ be General Vader; that kind of deep, authoritative voice would not have suited anyone else. “I would like nothing more than to retake the Capital, but our forces are depleted, they keep bringing in reinforcements, and if we move too quickly, we will most certainly be destroyed.” 

There was a moment of silence; and suddenly Luke realized that the man named Veers had turned, and they were both looking at him. That also provided him his first sight of the General, who was seated at a long desk that was certainly of much better quality than his. Vader had a strong face, was his first thought; a face riddled with several scars, and greying hair hidden under an impressive hat. But the eyes...the blue eyes he had seen somewhere before. 

“Hello, sir,” he said. “You asked to see me.” 

Veers looked absolutely confused, but a strange look came over Vader’s face; slowly, he rose to his feet, and...and he was _tall,_ Luke realized. What it must be like to see him lead in battle…

“Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Correct?”

“Yes,” Luke said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice; he did not want this to be his last day in the Continental Army. 

“Lieutenant Veers,” said Vader, “your men await you.” 

Veers took that for what it was: a dismissal. Nodding respectfully, he turned quickly and walked out of the tent, with a brief, dark glance at Luke. 

Now Luke was alone with General Vader, and he didn’t know what to think. 

Well, he thought, the first thing he could do was ask.

“Er…” He ran a hand through his hair, then stopped too late; that was a nervous habit. He couldn’t do that. He stood up straight. “I have to ask. Have I...done something wrong?”

Vader looked surprised at that. The faintest of smiles graced his lips before he replied: “No. Quite the contrary, in fact.” 

Hope leaped in Luke’s chest. 

“Then…” He looked around. “Why _am_ I here?”

“Because,” said the General, “we are fighting a losing battle. The British have almost completely overrun New York.” 

“I know,” Luke said, “trust me, we all want to get in there and--” He realized he was about to tell a crude joke to the Commanding General of the entire Continental Army, and he shut his mouth. “Sorry. Go on.” 

Once again, Vader smiled that brief smile, as if something Luke had said was amusing, before continuing. “I have tried everything, but their numbers are growing...and ours are shrinking. We were only given a third of what we were promised from the beginning; and if I lose any more men, we will all fall. The Army is spread too thin to send for reinforcements; we are, quite literally, backed into a corner.”

“And…” Luke frowned. “You want _my_ help? Why?”

At that, Vader actually _laughed,_ a great, booming laugh that caught Luke by surprise. “Do you really not understand? You’re a Captain, and a great one at that. Several months ago you were a student who had just joined the Army...and then you stole several cannons. And burned a British flag. And stole back several posts that even I could not attempt to steal. Why do you think I would like your help?”

Luke didn’t know what to say to that. 

“And my question is,” Vader went on, “why, with all your success, _no one_ has gotten you on their staff?”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Sir?”

“Do not misunderstand me. Everything that I have just said about you is true; you’re a great soldier, and as far as I’ve heard, a skilled strategist as well. I know General Kenobi wanted to hire you.” 

“Yeah, to be his _secretary,”_ Luke shot back. It was true; once he’d learned Kenobi didn’t want him to be included in any battles, only to be a glorified messenger, he’d shot him down. Now that it was obvious that Vader wanted to _hire_ him, that was a distinct possibility, and he wanted to make sure it did not happen again--

“Don’t be upset,” Vader told him, as if he were a _child._

“I’m not upset,” Luke said, and realized with a flash of embarrassment that he most definitely sounded upset. But all the same, the General didn’t have to go and chide him over it. 

Vader looked at him for a long moment; and then he began to pace. 

“I understand you,” he said at last. “You’re young, restless; you want to make a difference. You would like to honor someone...a teacher? A friend? Your parents?”

Luke shivered. How did he know that?

“Yes, I want to make my father proud,” he admitted. “Why does it matter?”

“I used to be like you,” Vader told him. “I know what’s in your head. As a child, you were bored, you felt you would amount to nothing...so you needed to do something desperate. You want glory, in a great charge, in battle...maybe even in death.”

Luke found himself nodding. 

_“No,”_ Vader said sharply, and Luke froze. “You have been in the army, but you do not understand the world; or else you would know that dying is the easiest part of life.” He looked off into the distance, as if remembering something from long ago. “Living...living, after experiencing great grief, and misery, and failure…” He looked back at Luke, eyes full of...concern? Desperation? There was something deeply sad there, something...something that was important, but Luke couldn’t figure out what it was. “ _Living_ is harder.” 

Luke stared at the General, unable to believe it. Here he was, simply a Captain, an _immigrant,_ and he was being given _life advice_ in a tone that told him he had better follow it, or else. 

“Why?” he demanded. “Why are you telling me this? I’m just another man in the military--”

“I am being _honest_ with you, because as I told you, I need your help,” Vader said. “You’ve been through the camp. You’ve seen what my men look like. I want someone I can trust, and something tells me it might be you. If you wish it, that is.” 

Luke took a deep breath. Maybe he’d be put at a desk job, simply writing letters all day...but on the other hand, he’d be working with _General Vader,_ who seemed to...trust him, against all odds. 

And beyond that, it would be the closest to a fulfillment of all his dreams. Who knew where he’d go from here?

“All right,” he said. “What have I got to lose?”

At that, a full smile burst across Vader’s face for the first time; a heavy hand clapped Luke on the shoulder, then turned him to face the exit. 

“Good,” he said. “I think we will work well together.” 

  
  


They walked out of the tent side by side, General Vader and Captain Skywalker, the highest ranking man of the Continental Army and an immigrant who’d been in the army barely a year. A year ago, Luke thought, he’d graduated. 

Now...now he was here. 

“The General!” someone shouted as they emerged. “Here comes the General!”

“Attention!” shouted someone else. Luke thought it might have been Veers. 

They came to a stop in front of all the men, and Luke suddenly wanted to shrink back into himself; he was standing at the side of General Vader, in front of all Vader’s men. He felt like...like everyone was watching him. 

And everyone was. 

“At ease,” Vader said, and to Luke’s alarm, the General took hold of his arm and pushed him gently forward. “Gentlemen, I would like you to make the acquaintance of Captain Luke Skywalker.” 

Luke looked out at the men uncertainly...and then back at Vader. 

Who was smiling at him. 

Suddenly, he felt less uncertain. 

“Skywalker,” said Vader, “is my new right-hand man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That is not the end. It was just starting to get TOO LONG, and I had to split up what was going to be Act Two. But the last part should be up tomorrow!
> 
> Also. So I kind of shamelessly copied a bunch of dialogue for the last scene but it works SO WELL FOR LUKE AND VADER OKAY thanks for coming to my ted talk


	3. Act Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to preface this by saying: in this story Luke and Leia are not related.

In the next several weeks, Luke Skywalker’s life moved much faster than he ever would have anticipated; but he had no problem with that, because it was also the most _fun_ he’d had since joining the Continental Army. He quickly became acclimated into what was known privately as the General’s “family,” a group working closely with Vader on an almost daily basis. They were people who the General trusted above all others, who he relied on, laughed and shared conversation with, and even had dinner with on occasion; and somehow, Luke was lucky enough to be included in that group. 

The other members of the “family” Luke was introduced to almost immediately, as he would be working with them frequently. There was Veers, whom he had already met, in a way; for some reason, he seemed to dislike Luke, but was incredibly skilled at military tactics. Then there was a former slave woman, Ahsoka Tano, who had been set free some years earlier. At first Luke was afraid that she would be disrespected by the others, as both a person of color and a woman; but it was not so, mostly due to her wide knowledge of routes and shortcuts that often proved to be the only reason they escaped the British. None of the other men spoke to her outside of meetings, but she and the General seemed to be on good terms. Then, there was a former British officer, Sir Anthony, who was useful in two ways: being a former British officer, he had knowledge of many of their leaders’ plans, and ways of working; and secondly, he was fluent in at least ten languages, and studying several more. 

And finally, there was Firmus Piett, the man who seemed to have the most accurate idea of what General Vader was like; he had an inner knowledge of all his plans, spent the most time with him, and had been with him the longest. He also seemed to be of the opinion that Luke would rise to an even greater position. 

“He respects you,” Piett told him once at dinner, after Vader had left to meet with General Kenobi and it was just the two of them. “He’s been following your career for several months now.”

“Me?” Luke had been absolutely surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Piett had said with a smile. “And I think he’s already quite fond of you.”

Luke didn’t know if that was so, as far as he related to the other members of the group; the General seemed fond of all of them. But then, there was a sort of fatherly attitude that Vader seemed to have toward Luke specifically: during the first few days, he had regularly taken Luke aside to ask how he was holding up during this transition, how he was growing accustomed to this new life, how his old artillery company, now under Lando’s command, was doing; and in the weeks past, the way he would, every now and then, lay a comforting hand on Luke’s shoulder when something went wrong, or the way he called him “son” or “my boy.” Luke didn’t know why Vader was doing that, but he liked it; it was not done in a way that was patronizing. And, he realized, it had been a long time since he’d had any sort of mentor to turn to. The General had taken Luke under his wing, so to speak, and he wasn’t complaining. 

However, this attitude was also unfortunate, because rumors started to spread across the camp; first in their small family, and then beyond that. What Luke had not known was that General Vader had spent several weeks in the West Indies; and that, coupled with the age difference between them, the almost unsettling _height_ difference between them, and the aforementioned fatherly attitude, led many people to wonder if Luke was Vader’s bastard son.

This began to give others a sort of attitude toward Luke; because, naturally, anyone who believed this was also keen to believe that that was the only reason their General was giving an immigrant special treatment. 

Finally, people began to ask _him_ about it, and Luke knew he had to shut down those rumors immediately. 

“I promise you,” he told Veers when asked, “he is _not_ my father. I think I’d know if he was.”

“But you must understand,” Veers said, “why we are suspicious--”

“Of course I understand,” Luke told him coldly; frankly, he was sick of constantly being underestimated due to being an immigrant _and_ due to his bastard status. “But you’ve got to take my word for it. I’m Luke Skywalker, not Luke Vader. And besides, don’t you think the fact that I’m living here has something to do with the actual things I’ve accomplished and _not_ my identity?”

Veers seemed to see the sense in that, at last; his eyes widened, as if he hadn’t understood Luke until now. 

“My apologies,” he said. “I’ll try to discourage the rumors. And, if I must say…” He smiled. “This is just between us, but years ago I was an immigrant as well. I’m German.” 

Luke returned the smile. “Nice to make your acquaintance, then.” 

From then on, he and Lieutenant Veers were on much better terms. 

Another thing that happened was that Lando, having taken over for Luke, began to both accomplish more victories and to seek work elsewhere; he was French, of course, disliked the British on principle, and wanted to be right where the action was so that he could get something done. 

That meant that one day, Luke wandered into the dining hall to find Lando Calrissian seated there. 

“Gentlemen,” said Vader, despite the fact that Ahsoka was in the room, “I’d like you to meet--”

“Lando!” Luke exclaimed. 

Lando jumped out of his chair. “Luke!” 

Then, to the astonishment of everyone in the room, they embraced one another.

General Vader looked between them. “Luke. You know Master Calrissian?”

“I do,” Luke said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “He’s an old friend, he’s been running my artillery company until now. I...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“Nonsense,” Vader said, smiling at him; he seemed to smile the most when he was in Luke’s company. “If you two know one another, then this will be all the better! Calrissian, I trust you have no love for the British?”

“I’m French,” Lando said wryly. 

Vader seemed pleased for once. “Excellent. Now, I believe we have much to discuss.”

  
  


But as the weeks turned into months, the fun new life in the General’s company began to grow old...and as it did, Luke’s one frustration grew. In all this time, he had been awarded many privileges. He had traded stories with Piett, and Veers, and even Ahsoka; he’d met an old friend; he had helped save the Continental Army from disaster, simply by wording his letters correctly and inventing strategies that not even Veers could have come up with. He was a secretary in name, but he did much more than that; his knowledge, his wit, and his determination to beat the British back to where they came from were frequently of use. Vader even told him, every now and then, that without Luke’s help they would be in a much worse state. Some nights he didn’t sleep often, he was constantly working, constantly writing...but in the end, it was worth it. 

But not once, during those months, was he given a field command. 

At first, he hadn’t minded; it was simply an honor to serve under General Vader, and to be privy to such detailed information. He had simply been content to wait, until the General fully trusted him; then, he was sure, he would receive a field command, he’d get to do _something_ besides sit at a desk all day. So he waited. And waited. 

And waited. 

And still nothing happened. 

Why, he wondered, _why_ did the General not want him to have a field command? The only reason he’d chosen him in the first place was because of the victories that _he_ had accomplished! It didn’t make any sense...and yet, as the months passed, Luke began to wonder, during the long hours he spent with the General talking strategy, if for some absurd reason Vader was trying to...protect him. He was trying to take Luke, who’d lived for almost twenty years not knowing if he was going to live to see the next day, who’d graduated top of his class by joining a secret society of revolutionaries, who had stolen twenty-one British cannons and simultaneously kept his own artillery company from losing many troops...and keep him _off_ the battlefield. 

And that was worse than anything else. 

So, finally, Luke decided to ask Vader himself. 

He took his opportunity during one of their long strategizing sessions. As the evening began, it was Luke, General Vader, Lando, Veers, and Ahsoka sitting together and discussing the routes. Then Veers left to brief his men. Then, Lando said goodnight to Luke and left. Then, finally, Ahsoka stood as well. 

“I think this will work,” she said. “I’ll be turning in for the night, Master.”

Vader appeared exhausted after what Luke knew had been a long day, but he smiled a small smile at her all the same. “I’ve told you before. You do not need to call me that any longer.” 

Ahsoka returned the smile, then gathered up her things and left. 

At last, Luke was alone with Vader; but for some reason, he could not find the courage to ask. He had a good relationship with the General; many times, he had been able to speak his mind. But Vader was also known to have a short temper, and had snapped at Luke, and others, before. 

“It is getting late, Skywalker,” Vader said, without looking up from the charts Lando had drawn up. “You should retire as well. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Luke didn’t budge. 

At last, Vader looked up. “Is something wrong?”

Luke finally found the courage to speak up. 

“I...with all due respect, sir,” he said, “there’s something I need to ask you.” 

Vader frowned. “Yes?”

“I...I’ve been here for...” _Come on. Come on, Skywalker, just say it. He trusts you._ “For almost seven months. As your secretary.” 

“Yes,” Vader said, looking slightly confused as to what Luke’s point could be. “And it has been a wonderful seven months; you have indeed been more than a secretary, and I am truly indebted to you. But what is the matter?”

“The matter is--” Luke took a deep breath. “That I’ve been a secretary.” The look in Vader’s eyes was always intense; it was difficult to look at the man directly. But Luke did it anyway. “I came here as a Captain, and I have been a secretary, and not once, in all these seven months--”

A shadow passed over Vader’s face, and instantly, he closed himself off. “Skywalker, I will not hear of it. You do not need a field command.” 

“Yes,” Luke said, pressing on; now that he had warmed up, he was not backing out. “Yes, I do! And, more than that, _you_ need me to have a field command.” 

“Do not begin an argument with me,” Vader said. “I have seen you argue.”

“Yes, so you know I’d win--”

“It is not about _winning,”_ Vader said sharply, stabbing a finger into Luke’s face. “It is about whether or not it is prudent for you to receive a field command, and it is _not!”_ He stopped, seeming to cool somewhat, and gave a heavy sigh. “You do many things for me, many wonderful things...things that have saved the Continental Army, that have saved our entire cause. I will not have you waste your life in battle.” 

Without another word, he stood up from his chair and began walking away. 

_I was right,_ Luke thought, fuming as he sat there, _I was right, he’s being overprotective, he’s_ patronizing _me--_

That thought was too much. Luke leapt to his feet and hurried after the General. 

“So,” he said, as Vader was on the threshold of the door, “you’re just going to walk out of here without another word, are you? Just _leave,_ before I even understand _why_ you’re keeping me out of battle?”

Vader froze. Then, slowly, he turned around. 

“I have told you many things in these past months,” he said. “I have confided in you, told you of my hopes for the future, even...my fears. But I am still your superior, and you are my _secretary._ You are not entitled to know everything.” 

“I am,” Luke said hotly, “when it pertains to me.” He crossed his arms. “Just because I’m young does not mean you have to keep secrets from me! Usually, during wartime, _sir,_ the keeping of important secrets is not exactly conducive to trust between important officials.” 

“You have become _far_ too arrogant in these last weeks,” Vader snapped, coming nearer to tower over Luke. “Ever since the victory at Princeton, you have been all too confident in your opinions, your own wit, your own self-righteousness! And that, _Skywalker,_ is not _conducive_ to the rewarding of special privileges!”

Vader was so close now that Luke was having to crane his neck to look up at him, but still he refused to yield. He knew from three years at King’s College that that would represent yielding the argument, and that was _not_ what he intended. 

Besides, despite the age difference, the height difference between them, Luke knew he had yet to play his trump card. 

“Then,” he said coolly, “if you won’t even tell me why you won’t give me a field command, maybe I should leave your service.” 

The look of anger faded; Vader seemed to clear his head. 

“I will tell you,” he said quietly. “I _will_ tell you, and you will have to accept it. Would you like me to tell you why you cannot have a field command? I will tell you.” He began to pace. “It is because you have become invaluable to me, in these last months; you have become someone I rely on, someone who helps me, someone I trust, and--” His voice, slowly, grew more agitated, more passionate. “And I do not want to waste your incredible talent, your indomitable spirit, on the battlefield, I do not _want you to die!”_

Luke clenches his hands into fists. 

The idea of dying was second nature to him. He had been raised around death, had lived surrounded by it; he understood it intimately. He had even joined the war because he’d thought he could give his life, for once, to something worth believing in. And now, while other men fought and died and gave _their_ lives, it was as if he was back at school again. 

He could do nothing. 

“I’m ready to die,” he shot back. “I don’t care what you think; you’re clearly biased in this situation, and whether it happens or not, I am willing to die!” He waved a hand at one of the windows. “Everyone here is ready to do the same thing, that’s why they’re here, but even I with all my incredible skill, with all my military victories, can’t do the same thing!” 

He stared at Vader...and then, something _snapped._

“You will NOT be dying,” Vader roared. “I will _never_ put you into a situation where you might die! I am your superior, Luke Skywalker, I am your--” He broke off, seeming at last to finally, completely calm down. “I have met your friend Leia Organa this past month, when she came to visit you. I have seen for myself how wonderful, how beautiful, and how brilliant she is...and how much she loves you. Have you not considered, for one moment, how her world might be destroyed if you died?”

Luke froze. He...hadn’t thought of that. 

“And,” Vader went on, “have you not considered--” His voice broke slightly, and he stared down at Luke with deep sadness in his eyes. “How the same might be true for me?”

Now Luke _really_ didn’t know what to think. He had not understood until that moment how much the General actually, truly cared for him. He still did not understand why; but now he saw it, and he felt simultaneously guilty, and furious. Guilty because he did not want to do any more to cause Vader pain, or weariness, or sadness; and furious because he knew, that as long as he served under this great man who seemed to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, who loved him almost like a son…

He would never have a field command. 

Finally, he clenched his jaw and turned away. 

“I understand,” he said quietly. 

He had to do something. 

_He had to do something._

“Luke--” Now, _now_ Vader had the gall to sound regretful about it. Now that he’d gotten his way. “I hope that you know--”

He didn’t stay around to hear the rest of it...because an idea was forming in his mind. And it was late at night, so perhaps it would be a terrible idea; but he had to try all the same. If he couldn’t have a field command…

Maybe there was something else he could do. 

  
  


That night, Luke got to sleep very late, and as a result, was barely functional for the rest of the day. But in the end, it was worth it. 

That night, he felt more on fire than he’d felt in months; he couldn’t have a field command, he couldn’t do anything--the General was trying to keep him from doing something. 

He was sure he could find a way to take action and not die. 

_There are more soldiers than ever,_ Leia had told him when they saw one another. _The king is angry, and the city of Yorktown is still closed off; I cannot enter to visit. The people in the surrounding areas are being oppressed, the British soldiers abusing them--one of my dear friends from childhood was raped. A man has been killed, and no one has done anything...the king is doing this on purpose. I know he is._

Luke had wanted to do something then; he’d wanted to charge into Yorktown and free those people, and help kill all the Lobsterbacks who were barging into these people’s lives, oppressing the innocent colonists. He’d thought being given a field command would help. 

But he hadn’t given a speech, had not written anything great, in months. 

He was going to write. 

And he was going to write to the King of England himself. 

King Palpatine, leader of the British Empire, who had caused all this. An evil man, many said. Either he was evil, or he was insane; but above all else, he was determined not to let the colonies slip through his fingers. 

So, at half past midnight, Luke sat alone in his room, three candles burning for light, dipped his quill in ink, and began to write. 

_To His Royal Majesty, the King of England, Our Sovereign, and most importantly, a Man who does not know His Face From His Ass,_

_Greetings. I am, perhaps, but a lowly American officer, an immigrant, a recent graduate from King’s College and only a Captain in the Continental Army, but it has come to my attention that your time in this country,_ our _country, is over. We have declared our independence from Your Majesty, over a year ago, and have stated the reasons why. We are not represented in Parliament. You are taxing us to pay for a war partly caused by yourself. You have forbidden us from moving West to make better homes and livelihoods for ourselves; and worst of all, you are not protecting our God-given rights to life, liberty, and property--or, as stated by others, the pursuit of happiness--as once put forward by a philosopher from your own country._

_You are not protecting us. You rule over us, as we once allowed you to do; but you are tyrannizing us. And, granted, we have declared our independence, have destroyed things that belong to you...yet you do not take it out on us. You do not take it out on our military, our militia. You attack people who cannot defend themselves. You assume your rights over them, and have caused them only to hate you even further. What will this do for you, in the end? What will this give you? You cannot force us to love you, Your Excellent Shithead, and you will only make things worse._

_So I, Luke Skywalker, am declaring this now, and others will declare it after me: that you have made a grave mistake. We will take back Yorktown and turn the tide of this revolution; you have put events in motion now that cannot be stopped. And when it is over, you will not have rights here, not now, and not in a thousand years._

_In case you were in doubt, Your Grace, here are my thirty points, listing what you have done wrong, and how you are not deserving of our love or allegiance henceforth…_

Following this address were in fact thirty points, partially assisted by remarks from Lando and Sir Anthony. At six in the morning, at long last, it was finished, signed by all the members of the General’s family, and taken to be nailed on the door of the nearest British Embassy. 

And then, Luke slept. 

He was awoken at ten o’clock by a pounding on his door. Still half asleep, he quickly put on clothing and stumbled out of his room...and was greeted by none other than General Vader. 

“Luke,” he said, stepping into the room, “what have you done?”

“I…” Luke struggled to remember; he could barely think. All he was concerned with was the very odd dream he’d been having, where he had been in attendance to Leia’s marriage to Han, but he seemed to recall that Vader had been furious with him, and had not given him a field command...and that...then he’d…

He’d written something. 

“I--I swear,” he stammered, taking several steps back, “I only wanted to do something--I didn’t want to disrespect you and go around you to get a field command, but--but Leia had mentioned something about Yorktown and I had to, I was so angry--it’s nothing against you, I just wanted to do something--”

To his surprise, Vader _laughed._

“Do something?” he echoed. “ _Do_ something? You’ve more than done something, my boy; you’ve defended the very essence of what we are fighting for!” He slapped Luke on the back so hard Luke was jolted forward. “I had agonized over Yorktown myself, I have wondered what to do, and now? The people themselves have begun to rebel. They have taken up rifles and attacked the soldiers who have invaded their homes, their city; in short, they have made our job of freeing the city so much easier.” 

Luke stared at him, shocked. His own letter had actually done something…

 _He_ had done something. 

“Do not apologize,” Vader said, seizing both Luke’s shoulders and turning him fully to face him. “I have never been more proud.” 

Luke almost couldn’t breathe. After yesterday, after everything that had been said between them...the General was proud of him. 

He smiled; and then, almost against his will, he yawned. 

Vader, however, seemed not to notice. “Come with me,” he said, smiling faintly. “There are many people who wish to speak with you.” 

  
  


Luke Skywalker’s letter took immediate effect. First was the rebellion in Yorktown; though it did not free the city completely, the strength of the British troops was shaken, and some of them did in fact leave the state. Then rebellion spread across the state of Virginia, at last culminating in a wide support of the Continental Army, greater than it had ever been. Up until this point, many colonists had been angry with the war, with the militiamen who had created this army, because thus far it had only brought them worse pain. Now, however, despite the fact that the Army had won no more battles, despite the fact that Britain was as strong as ever, the entirety of the colonists was turned against the nation that ruled them. And still Luke Skywalker’s letter continued to spread. 

Inevitably, it reached the King himself. 

Palpatine was growing increasingly angry about this little war. He had ruled these colonists for so long, and they had never given him trouble; they were his favorite subjects, and he had to admit that they were mostly the reason why Britain had won the French and Indian War. Of course, that war had cost them greatly; but the colonists had always been so loyal, so wonderfully, innocently eager to honor their motherland. Why not tax them a little? Why not ask for something in return for being allowed to live in such a distant land? It was not supposed to be any trouble. 

But then, it had turned into a _war._

The Revolutionary War, some were beginning to call it; it was absurd. It had been only a small conflict, just something to shut down this band of insignificant rebels...and Palpatine had almost got them. He had almost squashed their desire for revolution, quelled the murmurs of dissent completely. 

And then had come the letter. 

It was not so much a letter as an _insult,_ a _demand,_ a statement of rebellion toward a nation that had only given the colonists great things. It had insulted Palpatine, had insulted England, had insulted--in a way--the colonies, since they were in fact under Britain’s rule, and since the colonists were _British_ subjects. 

And, worst of all, it had come courtesy of an immigrant. 

And now Palpatine knew the name Luke Skywalker. 

But the name was not important; the name not so much as...where he had come from. Because suddenly, he remembered that the colonists themselves were immigrants. They were not native to the colonies. They were native to Britain, or to Germany, or to France, or to Spain. So of course they would have rebellious tendencies. And yet...they had given their allegiance to Britain. They had chosen this. They had submitted to British rule for centuries now; and suddenly, they were deciding to leave it. 

It was betrayal, none other. 

There had been a man during the French and Indian War who had had these tendencies, Palpatine recalled. This man had come to his court with several other military leaders, one day in the spring of 1754, at its outset; this man, too, had been a true British man, despite having been born in the West Indies. He had had British ideas, British sentiment, British loyalty. 

His name had been Anakin Skywalker. First a Captain, then a General. 

Palpatine had seen great potential in him; there were so many “yes men” in his service, which was of course useful...but none of those men truly believed in what Palpatine wanted. None of them believed that Britain was set to take center stage as the true leader of the world. Anakin Skywalker, perhaps, could have believed that. So Palpatine had asked him. 

And then...Skywalker had _turned him down._

Palpatine had had his revenge, then, had set out specifically to make sure that this _Anakin Skywalker_ never had such arrogance again. Only one person had died--that was all. Only one. Just enough to make sure that the lesson was learned. And then, he had never heard from Skywalker again. He wondered, for one moment, what had happened to him; probably, he had died--either in the war, or else he had killed himself from despair. 

But the problem was that Anakin Skywalker had been an immigrant. He had had ideas, and loyalties...and in the end, he was too hotheaded to turn them toward Britain. No, he had had to be _independent,_ to his last breath. 

And now, this _Luke Skywalker_ was also an immigrant. 

Now, this _Luke Skywalker_ had rebellious ideas, and great wit, and military skill. 

Now, this _Luke Skywalker_ was...a Skywalker. 

Was he, perhaps, Anakin’s son? 

Whether or not he was...that was irrelevant. What mattered was that this Skywalker brat was becoming a symbol of what these colonists were like. 

And the colonists must be punished. 

It would not be terrible, not by any means. They were, after all, still his favorite subjects; until now, they had been so beautifully compliant and loyal. Palpatine would have to win the war for their loyalty again; and, to do it, he would unfortunately have to be a little harsh. But in the end, all it would take was a little battalion, a few more men; and then, the people would be reminded of his love. 

Perhaps, as before, all it would take was the sacrifice of one person. 

_Ah, America,_ he thought to himself, _you will not be rebellious forever. I know it will not take long. I will win your love again...and soon, you will be back._

  
  


In the days following the letter, Luke was on top of the world. 

He had never experienced such popularity in his life, and he was sure he would never experience it again. In a few days, everyone knew his name, everyone admired him; and, at the gala they attended a week later, he was approached by at least thirty young women. That last part was unfortunate, since Luke had never been good with women; but he supposed it wasn’t terrible. Especially since Lando was there to help guide him through it, and to step in to dance with the women who would have been...too much for him. 

General Vader was there as well. He did not step into things, mostly seeming content to stand on the sidelines and speak with several other generals; but every so often, Luke would catch the General watching him. Instantly, the look on his face, either weary, distressed, or serious, would shift to one of happiness. 

_He always seems happiest when I’m around,_ Luke thought. 

“Pardon me, Monsieur Skywalker,” said a woman behind him, in a French accent; and, reluctantly, Luke turned around. 

Facing him was a woman wearing a white dress, as if she’d been invited to...a wedding. Like many of the foreign women, she wore a decorated mask over her face, and she smiled lustily at him. 

Desperately, Luke looked about for Lando. But Lando was gone. 

“Er...yes?” he said, turning his attention back to the woman. He knew what she wanted...what she wanted him to ask...and maybe what she wanted him to do _after_ the dance…

“What are you doing over here by yourself?” she said, her voice low and husky. “A handsome man like you, a…” She had the _audacity_ to reach up and brush a lock of hair out of his face, and as much as it felt like his boundaries were being steamrolled, Luke really couldn’t resist. “A war hero?”

These French women. Lando could’ve handled her…

“I...got tired,” Luke said, backing away as she came a step closer. “I’ve danced with quite a few...ladies this evening.” 

“A man like you could never be tired enough to dance with a true lady,” she went on. “Come now. I thought you would be a gentleman, but…” She trailed off, as if at a loss for words. 

Now Luke _really_ didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to say yes, he knew where this would lead...but what if he _was_ being rude by not dancing with her? 

“Are you always at a loss for words? Or…” Suddenly, the French accent vanished. “Or is it only when I talk to you, Luke?”

Luke knew that voice; he knew those _eyes,_ and most of all, he knew the face that was, from under the mask, grinning devilishly at him. 

“Leia!” he exclaimed in disbelief. 

She whipped off the mask, fully revealing the face he knew so well. 

“Miss me?” she said wryly. 

“Oh, you bet I--I--” He shoved her playfully. “You know, that was really a mean prank. You had me worried!” 

“I had to test you.” She crossed her arms. “Really, Luke, you’ve got to learn how to say no to women. You might be good on the battlefield or in front of your desk, but you simply _cannot_ risk throwing your honor away like that. You’ve got to watch out for those French women, they can be a nasty piece of work.” 

Lando sidled up behind her. “What did you say about French women?”

Now it was Leia’s turn to be surprised; she laughed, then turned around to embrace him. “Lando!” 

“Look at us, back together again,” he said, then grinned at Luke. “Well, your friend and I see a lot of each other these days.”

“I know,” Leia said. “I heard that from him when I came to visit, but...I don’t think I saw _you.”_

“I was hiding,” Lando said, with a smooth smile. “I was in awe of your beauty and grace, and I could not find the words to use.” 

“Oh, cut that out,” said a fourth voice, and this one Luke had not heard in months--he spun around to see Han Solo leaning against the wall, grinning. “You know, Lando, you can’t do that anymore. We’re engaged, after all.” 

“You’re…” Luke looked between them, stunned. “You and _Leia?”_

“Yes,” Leia said, with a glare at Han. “But if you do anything stupid I might change my mind.” 

“No, that’s--” Luke couldn’t find the words for speech. “That’s incredible! I…” He shook his head. “I knew this would happen, ever since I saw you sitting under that tree the day of my final examination!” 

Leia gaped. “You saw us?”

“You weren’t exactly making a secret of your love for one another,” Lando said. 

“Ah, Lando. Always the sweet talker.” Han thumped him on the back. “How are you doing these days?”

“Wonderfully! As I was saying to Leia…” Lando smiled. “Luke and I are both employed in the service of General Vader.” 

Han’s eyes widened. 

“Vader, huh?” He whistled. “How did you two manage that?”

“It was the cannon stealing,” Leia said. “You were geniuses, and...it boosted Luke’s reputation.” 

Han frowned. “How do you know this?”

“I came to see him,” Leia said, matter-of-factly. 

“But...but how do I not know this?”

“You don’t follow the news,” she said sweetly, giving him a brief kiss. 

Luke shook his head again. He almost couldn’t believe it; the last time he’d been with all three of his friends, they had all been...well. It had been a year ago, but they’d all been so much younger, so much more carefree. And now he and Lando worked for Vader, and Han and Leia were set to be married…

“When’s the wedding?” he asked. 

“In two months,” Leia said with a smile. “Father finally agreed.” 

“He did?” Luke looked at Han. “How long did it take?”

Han put his face into his hands and groaned. “A year.” 

The other three laughed. 

And then a gunshot rang out. 

Luke and Leia spun around; and in an instant, all was chaos. Women were screaming, men shouting for help as British soldiers poured into the ballroom. 

“Quick!” Leia said. “Come with me.” 

And then, before Luke could even say anything to Han and Lando, he was being pulled along through the halls at breakneck speed; somehow, Leia could run in her long dress. Chaos was around them, death in the distance--but still Leia did not stop, not for many long minutes...until she’d reached what appeared to be a dead end. 

“Okay,” Luke said. “What does this--”

“Shut it.” Leia reached for the floor, feeling along with her fingers until she’d pulled up part of it--and handed Luke a rifle. “This is for emergencies.” 

Luke frowned. “Do you always keep weapons in here?”

“I only put this here a week ago,” Leia panted. “But now we’ll have a chance, at least. Go!” 

“What about you?” Luke demanded. 

“I’ll be safe,” she told him. “But you have to help everyone else.” 

Luke nodded, and then he ran. 

It barely seemed real, he thought as he sprinted through the corridors, running as fast as he could go--he had to help. They’d been ambushed, they’d been ambushed, was all that was in his mind--caught off their guard--

Then he was back in the ballroom, and all hell had broken loose. 

People were still screaming--several were dead on the floor--bullets were being fired, bayonets stabbing through corsets and fancy suits, and he didn’t know what to do--he had to do something, but he didn’t know what--

Someone grabbed his arm roughly. 

Luke turned with a shout, but it was the General. 

“They have planned this for weeks,” he said. “I have just received word from our spies. They have scouted this place out, and had full knowledge of the guest list; they came for assassination.” 

“I can help,” Luke said. “I’ve got a rifle.” 

Vader looked down, at the weapon in his hand, and then back at Luke’s face. For one terrifying moment, Luke thought he would say no, but Vader only squeezed his shoulder once. 

“Yes,” he said. “That is a good idea. Take care not to die.” 

Then he was gone. 

The ballroom was still chaos, but now Luke could think; now he could breathe. He could act. He took one look around the room, searching for Han and Lando--he found Lando. He was on the floor, a soldier aiming at him. 

Luke took aim and fired. The British soldier fell dead. 

Lando spun around, and gasped in relief to see Luke striding toward him. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I had no weapon--”

“Thankfully, Leia plans ahead,” Luke said. “Stay out of danger! I’m going to find Han.” 

He ran further, hardly daring to think; Han was the only one still in danger, and Han was a fighter, but he had no weapons...he couldn’t…

Sir Anthony was struggling with a British soldier--with one movement, Luke had saved his life, too. He was killing, and at such close range...but he didn’t stop to think about it. He had to save his friends--had to save Han--

“--take this, you coward!” 

Han’s voice. Luke spun at the sound of it--around a corner, he figured, it was coming from around a corner. He ran in its direction, hoping Han was all right--

And he was. In fact, he’d just killed a British soldier. 

“There,” Han said. “How do you like that, you little--”

Out of nowhere, a pistol appeared in his face...and out from the shadows came another of the British soldiers, the weapon aimed directly at Luke. 

The rifle was too large; he couldn’t have gotten it up and fired in time. 

“Drop that weapon,” he told Han, “or I will kill your friend.” 

Han dropped his weapon, which he must have stolen from the soldier he’d killed. 

And then, the soldier pointed his weapon at Han. 

“You, too,” he told Luke. 

Reluctantly, Luke dropped the rifle. 

Then, the pistol was aimed at him again. 

He didn’t know what to think. He’d thought he’d save lives, and he had...but now…

At least, if he died, maybe Han would live. 

His friend’s next words shattered that hope. 

“Don’t kill him,” Han said, desperation in his voice. “Don’t kill him. He hasn’t done any fighting in weeks; he’s not the one you’re here for.” 

“You’re right. He’s not.” The soldier turned the pistol on Han. “You are.”

Luke barely had time to process what that meant before the British soldier fired. 

Simultaneously, someone screamed. 

There was a shout from Han--a flash of white--

And Leia lay bleeding on the floor. 

The soldier froze, looking between Luke, and Han, and Leia who was cradled in Han’s arms. He had clearly not planned for this; and Luke didn’t care. Rage took him. With a shout of rage, he picked up his rifle from the floor and ran at the soldier, firing again and again and again, until the man was dead. 

It was not enough. 

It would never be enough. 

But there were more important things to worry about. 

“Leia,” Luke gasped, dropping to his knees beside her. “Leia, how could you--how--”

She’d jumped in front of Han at the last second. Luke hadn’t even seen her coming.

“It’s not bad,” he said, searching across her for the entry point; there was already a dark stain on her dress, but it couldn’t have been terrible. It had been at the last second, it couldn’t be fatal. It couldn’t. “Leia--Leia, we’ll help you. It’s not terrible, it--”

Han looked up at him, tears staining his face. 

Luke froze in shock. He had never seen Han cry. 

That meant...it meant…

 _“No,”_ he sobbed, shaking Leia’s shoulder. “Leia, you can’t! Leia--”

Then, finally, she opened her eyes. 

“Luke,” she said, “it’s...it’s okay. I’m willing to die.” 

Those were the words he had said to the General. 

Suddenly he understood. He understood why Vader hadn’t wanted him to get a field command, why he’d said Leia’s world would be destroyed.

Because now that would happen to _him._

Luke had expected that his friends would die when he left for the war. He’d expected to see death. He’d seen Cassian die in front of him. He’d heard from Lando that Kanan had died, three weeks ago. Wedge had lost his arm in a cannon explosion. 

But all that time, he’d never thought he would see _Leia_ die. 

“Leia, you...you can’t,” he said, taking her hand. “You can’t die, you--you can’t leave me!”

“Luke, I said it…” She was speaking in only a whisper now. “I’m willing to die. We’ve...we’ve all been willing to die, from the beginning. And I was always...I was so afraid that you would all...die...and I would be left at home. Alone. If I had to die, this...this is the way I would have chosen to do it.” 

“Leia, you can’t--you can’t say that,” Han said. “We--we need you--”

“I know, and I…” A tear streaked down her cheek. “I...wanted to marry you. I...I love you.” 

“Finally,” Han said. “You finally--”

“I’ve loved you all along,” Leia breathed. “I just never said it.” 

Han made a choking sort of noise. “I...I know.” 

“Leia, just--” Luke drew her back to him. “You have to watch me, stay--just stay alive, for me--” He bowed his head. _“Please.”_

“Luke--” Leia searched for his hand. “Luke, don’t...don’t be sad. I...I’m not sad. I’m happy, because I--” Her eyes drifted, until she was looking up at the painted ceiling--painted, Luke realized, with an image of Joan of Arc leading her people to victory. “I...I’m going to die for freedom.” 

Then she went still. 

There was the sound of footsteps behind them. Luke spun around. 

“They’re mostly taken care of,” Lando gasped, “the General told me we’re safe, and--” He froze. “What?”

Luke nodded wordlessly. He couldn’t speak. 

Lando put a hand to his mouth, removed it, opened his mouth--and then burst into sobs. 

Suddenly, Luke realized the date. 

It was the second of June. 

Exactly a year ago, he had graduated from King’s College. 

_Look at us,_ he thought, looking down at Leia’s body, peaceful in death. _Look at what we’ve become._

  
  


Following the attack on the ballroom, there was only one objective. Only one goal. 

Luke had to get a field command. 

The first week, he didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He barely attended meetings, as did Lando; Vader let them. He knew what they were going through--he knew what Leia had meant to them. 

That first week was the worst week of Luke’s life. 

The only reason he had joined the war, the only reason he’d believed in the cause...was because of Leia. The day she had marched into that room and torn his speech apart...she’d changed his life. For better or for worse, she’d changed his life forever. 

Now he was thinking the answer was worse. 

If he had never met her, she never would have been in that ballroom. 

And beyond that, Luke was fairly certain that these soldiers had been spent for him specifically. To believe that the British soldier had said his mission was to kill Han--why would he kill Han Solo over Luke Skywalker? The Captain, the one who had written the message that infuriated the king? 

This, clearly, was what it was about. 

The king was angry. The king was beyond angry, and this was how Luke had found out. He had sent these soldiers after Luke’s friends. And one of his friends had died--but it had not been the one who was intended. 

And now, Han and Leia would never be married. 

Luke hoped Han was all right. 

After a week, and then a second week, had passed, Luke stopped thinking about his friends, stopped crying, started eating regularly...because as he emerged from this, there was only one thing to do going forward. 

He had to make Leia’s death worth it. 

He had to get revenge on the British and free America. 

He had to get that field command. 

But though he tried, and tried, and tried, and _tried,_ Vader still refused to give it to him. Luke asked him over and over, in many different ways; he sent him messages; he got Piett, and Ahsoka, and Veers, and even Sir Anthony to ask him...and then, following a battle that went terribly wrong, Luke realized he would not be able to ask any longer. Because now, Veers, a person who was close to _Vader,_ was dead. 

Too many people were dying, too many, too many--

And Luke couldn’t help. He knew now that he would never have the field command, because following Veers’ death, Vader was in a black mood. Luke hardly saw him; Sir Anthony had taken over most of the strategizing sessions. 

When would this war be over?

Maybe it would never be over. 

But Luke knew he had to do something. He had to. He had done something the first time...and it had resulted in Leia’s death. This time, he was sure that he had to be in the battle, at any cost. 

So he knew what he had to do. 

He had to leave the General’s service. 

That, he knew, would not be an easy conversation. 

But it did not come about in the way he expected. 

A week later, Vader returned to the meetings, though he still rarely spoke; and that meant that once again, Luke was overworked. Vader seemed as determined as Luke was to destroy the British, once and for all, and had Luke up at all hours writing letters, delivering them, drawing up strategies, rewriting the strategies. And Luke would have complained, except that he knew the General was sleeping even less than he was. 

Then, one day, Vader handed Luke a letter that was to be delivered to General Kenobi. 

“This must reach him,” he told Luke shortly. “It might turn the tide of the war.”

Luke didn’t take that too seriously; Vader phrased everything gravely these days. So he nodded, left the house...and on the road, he was met by Lando. 

“I’m headed off to Trenton,” Lando told him after they’d spoken for a few minutes. “Han has a message for me; he’s gotten into an intelligence organization, and I have to reach him immediately.” 

“Intelligence?” Luke echoed, shocked. That was a dangerous business; but if anyone was right for it, Han was. “What does he know? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Lando said. “But...is there anything you want me to tell him?”

There was deep sadness in his eyes; Luke knew he must have looked the same. Neither of them had talked about what had happened that night at the ballroom, but nothing would ever be back to normal between them. 

“Tell him to stay alive,” Luke said quietly. “For me.” 

Lando nodded, and rode off. 

Following that, Luke delivered the letter to Kenobi, stopped briefly to purchase the horse he knew he’d need for his travels after leaving Vader’s service, and returned. 

It couldn’t have been more than two hours’ delay, beyond the conversation with Lando and the horse--but when Luke entered the house, he looked up to see Vader standing at the top of the stairs, glowering down at him. 

“You do not have to tell me this,” Vader said. “But you disrespect me, Luke. I know you think I take things too seriously these days. I know you wish for a field command. But I am your superior, and you must--”

“I’m leaving,” Luke said. 

Vader froze. “What?”

“I said…” Luke swallowed. “I’m leaving. It’s too much.” 

“You’re leaving,” Vader said flatly. “Why?”

“Because--because--” Luke threw up his hands. “Because of Leia! She died more than a month ago, because of _my_ actions, which were caused by my desperation to fight. If you’d given me a field command, this never would have happened!” 

“If I--” Vader walked slowly down the stairs. “You could have waited. You did not have to act.” 

“I need to fight in battle!” Luke could not cry, he would _not_ cry. He fought back tears. “You say I disrespect you. But you hired me because of my military prowess. You hired me because of the things I’d done, the things I had accomplished in battle, and yet you still won’t give me a field command.” He stared at Vader. “Why?”

“I have told you,” Vader said, now seeming hesitant. 

_“Why?”_

“Because I do not wish you to die,” Vader snapped, beginning to pace. “Because I care for you, because your friends care about you, because of what I said the very day I hired you. Dying is easy; _living_ is harder, son. You don’t know the things I have experienced, the utter loss--”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Luke shot back. “Why won’t you let me have a field command?”

“Because you cannot throw your life so rashly.”

That was not it. 

“WHY?” Luke screamed. 

“How many times do you want me to repeat it?” Vader demanded. “I _do not want you to die!_ You have always been rash, and I...I do not want you to throw away your life so rashly, son--”

Not again. Not this again. 

“Don’t call me son!” Luke shouted. 

_“You ARE my son!”_

Luke froze. 

Time seemed to stop. 

Vader...he’d just...Luke almost couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process it. He--he’d said--

“I’m _what?”_ he said, his voice shrill. He barely heard himself speaking. 

“You--” Vader took several deep breaths. “Are. My. Son.”

“But it’s _not possible,”_ Luke snarled. “You’re saying this to distract me for some absurd reason--”

“I am not.” 

“My father was Anakin Skywalker!” 

“And I am! Or...I was. I was Anakin Skywalker.” 

“You…” Luke stared at him. “You were Anakin, you’re...you’re actually my father?”

Vader stared at him for a long moment. Then he reached out one hand, almost hesitantly, and brushed back a lock of hair from Luke’s forehead. Luke flinched in surprise. 

“I am,” he said. 

“But…” The tears he’d held back for so long spilled out freely. “How?”

“Because...I…” Vader sighed. “I can tell you the details later, but I was indeed born in the West Indies. I came here, was educated--though not as well as you--and served in the military during the French and Indian War. I experienced many military victories; I was the best Captain, and later, General, that there had ever been.” 

Luke’s eyes widened. This was too much--too much to take in--

“Then, it all ended. The king of England wanted me to serve under him personally.” 

Luke frowned. “Palpatine?”

“The very same,” Vader said, smiling slightly; it was the first he’d smiled ever since that attack at the ballroom. “He wanted me to join him; I refused, and decided in that moment that he was more corrupt than I had anticipated. Suddenly, I realized that the colonies must not remain under him forever.” 

Luke took in a breath. “You didn’t tell him that, did you?”

“I...did.” 

Now he was beginning to understand. 

“And you were punished,” Luke said slowly. 

Vader nodded. “He only killed one person. But that person...was my world. My hopes, my dreams, my...everything.” One tear glistened in his eye, for a moment, and then it was gone. “My wife, Padme Amidala...who was, at the time, pregnant with you. I returned home one day to…” He closed his eyes for a moment, and for that moment, Luke could see the depth of Vader’s pain, could see to the center of why the General he’d served under could say it was easier to die than to live. “To find her stabbed, in our bed.” 

Luke gasped. He couldn’t say anything. 

“I thought, of course, that you had died, my son.” _My son._ He’d called him that before, of course, but--but-- “I thought you had died with her. But unbeknownst to me, she had given birth quickly while I was in battle; you had come earlier than expected. My friend, now known as General Kenobi, was there to help her. He smuggled you away, to the West Indies...because the king must never know you had survived. He wished to destroy my world...and for many, many years, he did. But...as soon as I heard your name…” 

Vader’s hand came up again, this time to cradle the side of Luke’s face; and this time, Luke was content to let him do it. If he was being honest, he even leaned into the hand. 

“For the first time in years,” Vader said softly, “I had hope again.” 

“Then...why?” Luke whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because…I did not think you would believe me.” Vader removed the hand. “I decided then to treat you as my son, to look on you as kindly as I could without causing too much suspicion...and when the time was right, then you would believe me.” 

“So...so...it’s…” Luke took a shaky breath. “It’s so much, but…”

“I know. And I apologize.” Vader tilted Luke’s chin up to look at him. “But you _are_ my son.” 

“I…” Luke took another breath, this one more successful. “Okay. I believe you.” He turned away. “But what now?”

Vader frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Yorktown...Virginia...we’re still losing them.” Luke shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do, but…”

“There is one thing we can do.” 

He turned back to look at Vader. 

“We can give you a field command,” Vader said softly. 

Luke stared up at him for a heartbeat. Two heartbeats. 

Then, he flung his arms around his father. 

Vader--General Anakin Skywalker--froze, as if he hadn’t expected it. Then, he brought his arms up eagerly, and hugged Luke back. The embrace was warm, and comforting, and a little overbearing, but somehow it was everything Luke had ever wanted. 

“I always wanted to make you proud,” he mumbled into Vader’ chest. “And now I will.” 

Vader pushed him back to look at him. 

“Believe me, Luke,” he said. “You have made me proud since the day I first heard your name.” He grinned broadly. “Stealing twenty-one cannons is exactly the sort of thing I would have done...back in the day.” 

Luke half-sobbed, half-laughed. 

“You’ll really give me a field command?” he said. 

“Really.” Vader narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Although...if you have any other ideas, I would be happy to hear them.” 

Luke thought for one second...and then he knew. 

“Actually,” he said. “I do have an idea.” He smiled mischievously. “I have someone who might be willing to spy for us.”

  
  


Han Solo was the best spy ever employed in the history of General Vader's regiment. 

Without his information, they never would have saved Yorktown; with it, they were able to find every secret entrance point that was necessary, the location of every guard, and much more. And that day, the fourth of July--coincidentally, the day the Declaration had been signed--Luke led his own command into the city of Yorktown. 

It was one of the most difficult battles he’d ever been in. But with his father bringing reinforcements from the south, and with Lando at his side...there was nothing Luke couldn’t do. 

He’d always doubted, raised in the brutal West Indies, that God existed, or that heaven existed. But if it did, he was sure that Leia was there too, watching him...and waiting for the day when they would be reunited. 

At long last, the battle of Yorktown was over. 

There were casualties, of course; many soldiers, some who Luke knew by name, had died. Lando’s injuries were the worst--he’d been struck in the legs by a fallen building, and many doubted that he would walk again. But in the end he was alive, and so was Han…

And so was Vader. So was his father. 

And the people of Yorktown were free. 

And later, after the singing was over, after the parties and the dancing were over, Luke and his father sat together in front of the fire. They didn’t say much, but they simply sat there, content with each other’s company. 

“I should get into bed,” Luke said at last. 

“Yes,” Vader told him, “you should.” 

Luke stared at him pointedly. “So should you.” 

Vader gave him a reproachful look. “I am your father, Luke. Just because you are an adult does not mean--”

“You deprive yourself of sleep,” Luke said. “I told you that before, when I didn’t know of our relationship. You didn’t listen to me then. Now that I know...can you please sleep?”

Vader stared at him for a long moment. Then, smiling, he pulled Luke against his chest for a brief, one-armed hug. 

“All right,” he said. “I will retire.” He ruffled Luke’s hair. “Good night, son.” 

Luke smiled. “Good night...Father.” 

Vader smiled one last time, and Luke got a brief sense that, in his father’s eyes, he was all that existed in the universe. 

Then the General retired to bed. 

After he had gone, Luke found Han waiting outside the fireside room. 

“Well, well,” Han said. “Big win today, huh?”

Luke chuckled. “Sure.” 

They began walking together. 

“I miss her,” Han said at last. “Damn, kid...I never talked to you about it, but it was a rough time. I really, really miss her.” 

Luke tried not to cry, and half succeeded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I miss her, too, Han.” 

“But, you know...I’ve been thinking.” 

“That’s rare for you.”

“Oh, I know. But I’ve been thinking, about her last words.” Han sighed. “She said she was happy she was dying for freedom.”

“Yeah.” Luke didn’t look at him. 

“We gotta make sure she did.” 

_Now_ Luke looked at him, half expecting a joke. But Han was serious.

“We have to keep this going,” Han said. “It’s just the first step. Yorktown is saved, but...the British aren’t gone yet. We’ve gotta kick them out of here...for good.”

Luke stared at him for a long time. Then he smiled.

“You know, Han,” he said, “if you’d told me the day I met you that we’d both be here...that I’d be a Commander...and you’d want to die for other people...I’d have said you were crazy.”

“Yeah. Cause it is crazy.” Han grinned. “But maybe we can be crazy together.” 

“Yeah.” Luke raised an imaginary glass. “Here’s to you, me, Lando...and Leia. Wherever she is. I just know she'd be singing right along with us...'the world turned upside down,' and all that.” 

Han smiled, and there was bitterness in it, but not too much. 

“Yeah, kid,” he said. “Here’s to the four of us.” 

Hours later, Luke lay in his bed, looking up at the ceiling. They still had a long way to go; he didn’t want to get overconfident yet. But to imagine...four years ago, he’d arrived in this sorry place, expecting to go places. He’d wanted to honor his father, discover himself...and do something to make the world better. 

Now, considering what he’d learned, what he’d found...he had. 

Because they’d win this war. They’d win it, they’d get the British out of there and become their own country. He’d do it for Leia, and so would Han. But even if they never won...Luke knew he still would have made a difference. Because, just by existing, by joining the war effort, he’d helped his father live again. In the end he had lost a friend, but had gained a father.

And that, he realized, was all the difference he needed to make. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh I did it! This turned into a monster of a thing but...happy birthday Spell! Hope you liked it!!


End file.
